The Run-Off Zone

She Never Wants To

2012-02-12T01:21:00.002+05:30

'I sent her every type of flower
I played her a guitar by the hour
I petted her revolting little Chihuahua
But still she just didn't want to.'

Madddddd mofo, this Nick Cave is.

Happy Bday Old Man :)

2012-01-03T05:10:00.000+05:30

43rd birthday, and another full F1 season beckons. There is an end.

As long as it's not today.

You should walk before they make you run, or you might want to nuke them :)

YES.

There is an End

2011-12-29T17:16:00.001+05:30

Yes, there is an end. And I'm more than in touch with my gay side.

Chhee chhee.

Hey (HEY!) You (YOU!)

2011-12-21T15:47:00.002+05:30

Yes the movie could have been better, but it has some beautifully trippy moments. And fucking cool ones, like Gavin Kavanagh's entry scene haha. So I watched it again, after all these days.

'I can see you, Marianne!'

Happy Birthday Keef

2011-12-18T15:23:00.000+05:30

And it is the Guru's birthday today :)
Always took candy from strangers,
Didn't wanna get me no trade
Never want to be like papa
Working for the boss ev'ry night and day
I need a love to keep me happy
I need a love, baby won't ya keep me happy?

:)

2011-12-15T08:09:00.003+05:30

I remember the time when I would stare out of the old Premier Padmini we used to own(GAHAHAHHAHAH) when we would pull up at the Bharat Petroleum bunk in front of the Burnpur railway station. The analog fuel-dispenser gauge would roll on metronomically, and petrol used to be 28 rupees to the litre. Buro hoye jachhi baba, buro hoye jachhi.

Petrol Blues by The Rolling Stones on Grooveshark

Pothole Jam

2011-12-12T00:59:00.005+05:30

So I'm lazy and µTorrent is mi amor. Jeff Beck, Stevie Ray Vaughan and Cream(circa 2004) came a'visiting last night. I'm still reeling and my jaw is yet to by prised out of the cavity it has made on the floor.

So I'll be unoriginal(again) and recommend 4 things to you. Four things you should check out immediately, unless, of course, you are Kapil Sibal. Or Altaf Raja.

My songs for this winter.

1. Jeff Beck - Where Were You

2. Stevie Ray Vaughan - Leave My Girl Alone

3. Cream - Deserted Cities of the Heart

4. Tom Waits - Satisfied

5. Roy Orbison - Mean Woman Blues

'When I'm gone
Roll my vertebrae out like dice
Let my skull be a home for the mice'

Tom Waits, what a macha.

Plus, it isn't 4, it's 5. Sorry.

Question of the Day

2011-12-10T20:52:00.001+05:30

Why don't you make your guitar sound like a Yamaha RD350?

Vida de otario

2011-12-01T22:29:00.000+05:30

Vida de otario

Choolaimedu High Road Blues

2011-11-28T06:52:00.001+05:30

Walked down many a lonesome street
Looking for my baby
Dragged my leaden feet for miles
Crying for my baby

Oh vengeful Thiru, you can take my ghatam away
Make tamarind trees fall on this head o'mine today
Let my head below them filthy waters stay
Turn me into death sadder and pale and grey

Just don't rain my hopes away
Please don't rain my hopes away

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (thwack)

MICK F**KING TAYLOR!

2011-11-24T08:12:00.001+05:30

Endsems always mean the discovery of faceburningly sexy songs. And I thought I'd heard it all, when it came to the Stones. However, this uncut gem from the Sticky Fingers sessions has napalmed the shit out of me - Mick Taylor raping it for 6 furious minutes.

We miss you, Mick. Rumbo much.

The Original RocknRolla

2011-11-21T03:36:00.001+05:30

I have been meaning to do this for a while - it's been so, so, sooooooo long since I even thought of writing anything here.But here I am now, sleep-deprived and slightly on-the-edge.
And I am not referring to myself as the 'Original RocknRolla' - I'm retarded, but I'm not that retarded.

Neil McCormick picked up some quotes from Keef's memoir, Life. Here's me unoriginally sharing:
'I never knew the chick.’ - on hearing of Princess Diana’s death.
'Put the f---ers in a pan and let them rock’ - his recipe for bangers and mash.
'Her Majesty. Brenda.’ - his nicknames for Jagger.
'I’ve never had a problem with drugs. I’ve had problems with the police.’
'The breakfast of champions’ - his nickname for cocaine and heroin.
'Passing the vodka bottle. And playing the guitar.’ - on keeping fit.
'I’m not putting death on the agenda. I don’t want to see my old friend Lucifer just yet. He’s the guy I’m gonna see, isn’t it? I’m not going to the Other Place, let’s face it.’
'It’s the height of impoliteness to turn blue in someone else’s bathroom’ - on the perils of taking too many drugs in hotels.
'I don’t think John [Lennon] ever left my house, except horizontally.’
'It’s like Mein Kampf - everyone had it, but no one read it’ - on Mick Jagger’s autobiography.
'Marianne [Faithfull] had no fun with Mick’s tiny todger. I know he’s got an enormous pair of balls - but it doesn’t quite fill the gap.’
“I used to love Mick, but I haven’t been to his dressing room in 20 years. Sometimes I think: 'I miss my friend.’ I wonder: 'Where did he go?”
'I’ve given up everything now - which is a trip in itself’ - on coming off hard drugs.
“I never thought I was wasted, but I probably was.”
'You keep your back to the wall at all times’ - teaching his Pirates of the Caribbean co-star Johnny Depp how to walk round a corner drunk.
“If you’re going to kick authority in the teeth, you might as well use two feet.”

Just in case you had any doubt as to who is the Ultimate Baap.

PS: The Stones are jamming in London after what has been a long, long time. In Keef's words: My basic thing is that he (Ronnie), Charlie and I are going to work together. Just go in and see if we can warm our chops up. And of course everyone else is welcome. Mick Taylor's welcome. I don't see why everybody who was a Stone shouldn't be involved.
It would be KILLER if the classic lineup would reunite for the 50th Anniversary Tour (if it happens). Please please please Tirupati.

Spitfires

2011-09-11T19:29:00.006+05:30

'Ain't born to lose baby,
I'm born to win,
I'm so goddamn slick baby, it's a sin,
It's a Sin.'

Then:

'Sidewalks, feel me strut so good
Gutter, dont forget this face
Let 'em taste my misfit Love
I'll show you all my dirty tricks
Then show 'em again
I'm so proud of em.'

And finally:

'Cause, I'm already gone,
If you bet on me, you've won.'

Bow down before these two superhumanintergalacticplanetary boys.

Respect.

Up in the sky

2011-08-06T10:14:00.002+05:30

And we graduated from the Teqshila University.

Until the return of my love, this lullaby.

Ready to die?

2011-07-26T08:44:00.005+05:30

Breivik. Sickest. Bastard. Ever.

May all his victims rest in inviolable peace.

And all this hue and cry over Amy Winehouse's death is irksome. I'm sure she was talented and everything (who am I to judge), and may she have an untroubled existence in her afterlife, but AAAARGH. I haven't listened to her music and I don't intend to. Her passing on at 27 ensures that henceforth, all magazine articles and news features talking about rockstar excesses(ergo, deaths resulting from all these excesses) will mention her name in the same breath as those of Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones, Kurt Cobain and Janis Joplin who all died at 27. This clique has been, quite unimaginatively, called the '27 Club'. Duh.

Example: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/celebritynews/8657002/The-27-club-the-musicians-who-played-fast-and-died-young.html

Names like Duane Allman, John Bonham, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Bon Scott and I'm sure many others aren't remembered in the common sphere the way the 27-ers are. And these people were as talented and as fantastic and as brilliant and as magical as the 27-ers. Just saying.

One good thing has come out of all this though. Russell Brand has written a tearjerker tribute to Winehouse and I was pleasantly astonished by the way he writes. I like. I should grab his 'My Booky Wook' soon.

'They(addicts) communicate to you through a barely discernible but un-ignorable veil. Whether a homeless smack head troubling you for 50p for a cup of tea or a coked-up, pinstriped exec foaming off about his “speedboat” there is a toxic aura that prevents connection. They have about them the air of elsewhere, that they’re looking through you to somewhere else they’d rather be. And of course they are. The priority of any addict is to anaesthetise the pain of living to ease the passage of the day with some purchased relief.

Not all of us know someone with the incredible talent that Amy had but we all know drunks and junkies and they all need help and the help is out there. All they have to do is pick up the phone and make the call. Or not. Either way, there will be a phone call.'

The whole thing can be read here.

Can't, Won't, Don't Stop

2011-07-19T08:36:00.003+05:30

He(Pete Townshend) marvels at artists – like Pete Seeger and Chuck Berry – who continue to perform well into old age. "Isn't it wonderful to see them," he says. "A lot of people may not agree, but to me this is like the last time you're going to get to see any of these people. Imagine if you could go watch Mozart today, even if it's the last, crappiest show he ever played. What a thrill that would be."

Make it?

2011-07-13T12:43:00.004+05:30

These are dark, smelly and dubious times indeed.

It has become so tough to keep the faith, but keep it I will. Schumi, Vale let's just tear something up, despite how improbable it seems at this stage. Where did the magic go? Why does it refuse to have a good time with us these days? Quit being a heartbreaker, you.

Faggots who start having aneurysms every time it even looks like their sports team/player/hero might possibly lose should just stop watching sport. Write your own sports storyboards in your own heads with your preferred endings and feel warm and smug inside.

It's almost as if my two deities are tripping on me. Deity number three is in retirement. But no matter. They are heroes. My heroes. Always have been, always will be.

Josh Homme had something to say in 'Make It Wit Chu' which seems apt here.

'I ain't here to break it,
Just see how far it will bend.'

Laugh-daap

2011-07-12T07:51:00.005+05:30

I haven't been pissed off at movie trailers in quite a while. The good ones make me feel warm and soft and fuzzy, and the bad ones(eg. Singham) make me laugh. Seriously what's with the 3-stage boob-grabbing technique proudly displayed by Ajay Davegn(Devgun? Devgan?)? Thoo. God, it's bad. But funny too. Take another shit movie like Murder 2. You know what to expect here, with Emraan doing his usual thing and the actress kitted out in lots of leather, pumping and grinding anything, absolutely ANYTHING within her sights. So one doesn't really care.

But the trailers of Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara are on another level. All its trailers I have seen thus far are mind-numbingly and cringe-inducingly unfunny(the music is also quite bad, but Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy have been quite useless in recent times). Right from the 'bwoyz' to the 'mushi-mushi' to the 'lou' to the one in which the three guys are bombarding us with their singing talents(ie. lack thereof). I think my extreme irritation stems from Abhay Deol's involvement in what might be a total WTF film. He should have learnt his lesson from Aisha. The other two don't matter because they will have their blockbusters even if this one doesn't work. And I don't really expect quirkily fantastic performances in smartly made cinema from the other two. Abhay macha, I hope the film is decent, and if it's not, you should just walk away from this kind of film in future.

But yes, despite these trailers being about as exciting as a damp, fungi-infested sock, I will end up in a theatre that's screening the film next week. I don't have anything better to do.

After the bad, let's move on to some awesome.

Neil Young, after all these years, has still got it.

Enjoy.

Always has been, always will be

2011-07-06T02:05:00.002+05:30

'I understand the sport like this: When one player is better than you, at this moment the only thing you can do is work, try to find solutions, and try to wait a little bit for your time.

Last five times wasn't my time. I gonna wait and I gonna try a sixth. And if the sixth doesn't happen, to the seventh. It's going to be like this. That's the spirit of the sport.'

El Mago?

2011-07-02T13:44:00.007+05:30

A new king's born today.

You Djoker, you deserve the No. 1 ranking macha. You have been bwilllliant all season. Rafa had correctly pointed out, referring to the Federer vs Djokovic match in the post match interview he gave to Cedric Pioline after thrashing Andy Murray(hahahah) in the French Open semis 4 weeks ago: 'It is the best player of the moment playing against the best player of (the) history.'

Anything other than a Djokovic victory would be a surprise. The Rafa second serve, which Murray was returning like an epileptic chimpanzee, will be murdered by Nole. His groundstrokes are laser-sharp and his accuracy is maddeningly unerring. And he's moving on court like Nadal used to 3 years ago. If he gets off the blocks quickly, Rafa will have problems. Biiiiiiiiiiig problems.

I predict a Djoker win in 4, possibly 5 sets.

But I hope the Raging Bull rages once more and conjures up some 2008 magic. At the very least, it should be a dhamaka match.

(Contrary to what I had said earlier, there have been 2 sensational matches post the Rafa-Delpo encounter. This one promises to be the BAAP.)

Whoopty whoop!

PS: I might go and catch Delhi Belly now. IF IT DOESN'T RAIN. Harrrumph.

Majesty Shredding

2011-06-30T02:23:00.000+05:30

'And if there's one of these unavoidable laws...
It's that you just can't take the effect
And make it the cause.'

Actually, no, that's not the unavoidable law we're talking about.

'Time waits for no one
No favours has he
Time waits for no one
And he won't wait for me'.

Hah, as if my words would have been worth squat.

BAMFing Tennis

2011-06-28T02:00:00.010+05:30

WHATAMATCHWHATAMATCH, WHATAFUCKINGMATCH. Delpo with those howitzeringbazookafiedpiledriving groundstrokes and our good old whiplashingbuccaneergunslinger Rafa. Yes there were a lot of errors but they were playing 'space-shuttle level'(Hova in Nadal's box would have approved) tennis, going for broke, raping those tennis balls and giving each other no quarter. This was THE match as far as the 4th round matches were concerned, and it more than lived up to its billing. Heck, it probably is the best match Wimbledon is going to see in the second week of the tournament. It was the meanest and baddest and dopest and illest match so far in this year's Championships.

Images from that 6-2,6-2,6-2 banging of Rafa at Flushing Meadows 09 were repeatedly forcing itself into my head when Delpo was mothering those balls but Rafa responded decently, especially in the tiebreaks.

And apart from the tennis there was some good drama, with those 2 injury scares, Delpo gentripping on a ballkid, Rafa raging, Spanish soap-opera style at Carlos Ramos for that time violation etc etc.

I hope Nadal's not hampered by that ankle injury. That would be a pity. I mean, Mardy Fish would get to the semis then! If Rafa was in that much pain, he should have forfeited the match. Del Potro might have gone far.

BLOCKBUSTER STUFF. Give me more I say.

Enter the Lota-pourri

2011-06-08T20:58:00.003+05:30

Reading intense books, for me, is not a regular occurrence these days. Primarily because I like to start and end a book on the same day, at one go. I have this disability which performs pastoral dances in my mind's eye when I have to pick up a book after having read 30-40 pages the previous night.

But right now, I'm as jobless as a beedi seller on the moon. So I ended Meghnad Desai's 'The Rediscovery of India'. Slightly heavy duty, but enjoyable nonetheless.

'Despite such a long litany of troubles, India somehow managed to conduct a normal political life that was open and democratic. Disputes did get settled, if only temporarily. Lives were lost or ruined, but there were also achievements. The size and complexity of the country give it an aura of a functioning anarchy. Yet, it must be remembered that India has had the the experience of a viable overarching state only for a fraction of its long history. The open society with its press and other media, a tradition now over a hundred years old, a cumbersome and overburdened, yet functioning, legal system built on the ideas of the rule of law, all provide a formal envelope for the resolution of many such conflicts. The rest are dealt with in the time honoured way of Indian society, which Hegel labelled 'Oriental Despotism' and Marx called 'The Asiatic Mode of Production' - a world where political authority is remote and does not touch the lives of ordinary people.'

Nice, no?

PS: Deodorant companies, it DOES NOT HAPPEN. Fuck off.

Edifice

2011-05-23T03:08:00.001+05:30

'Staring together at all those flaky ceilings
Mourning all the apocalypses that await
Forgetting this, for some sweetly dirty work
Could you have some use for me again?
And there was another of those faraway sighs
Blowing the parlour up in the lamplight

All I needed - and got
was a warm, wet place
Where I put my weary face'

- Don Hejo on why she wasn't known as Jahaanara

Moment of Silence II

2011-04-14T12:46:00.009+05:30

OK, for someone who has, for the better part of his stupid life, worshipped a certain Schumacher and has always shaken fists, vociferously argued and annoyingly pontificated about his status as the greatest of the modern era, this was - above all - a silencing experience. What hasn't helped is that ill-advised comeback. When he announced his decision to go with Mercedes GP in 2010, there was one little shrill green baboon in my head screaming 'HE'S HAD IT', but I hit it over the head with a hammer and said to myself that there is no way Schumi is going to be soooo stupid as to come back at 41 unless he knows, FOR SURE, that there is more glory to be had.

Needless to say, the shrill green baboon is singing 'Sleep Now In The Fire'.

I finally watched 'Senna', after I had read several glowing reviews on motorsport websites as well as film sites and blogs. Let me tell you, my 3.75 readers, that I fully concur with the movie's tagline and that I consider myself extremely unlucky that I was never able to see him race, that my Senna experience has comprised only youtube clips and the shady VHS quality GP videos I found on PirateBay, Demonoid, etc.

In 1990, Jackie Stewart interviewed Senna for a TV spot. He was being his usual wet, cunt-y self: “If I were to total up all the previous world champions, you have been in contact with other cars more often in the last 36 or 48 months than all of them were in total.”

Senna was evidently pissed off. He shot back icily, “If you no longer go for a gap that exists, you are no longer a racing driver.”

'No Fear. No Limits. No Equal.'

I abide.

Feepod

2011-04-12T18:49:00.002+05:30

♫ 'Won't you be my little baby, for a while?'

Won't you

2011-04-06T23:33:00.002+05:30

Otherwise being ground into the tiles

The Re-dedication

2011-03-25T22:33:00.003+05:30

Somehow find the spark to set this fucker off

and Bring it back, bring it back, bring it back, bring it back...

Yeah, let's. It's time.

2011-02-07T21:53:00.002+05:30

“There’s a certain moment when you realize that you’ve actually just left the planet for a bit and that nobody can touch you. You’re elevated because you’re with a bunch of guys that want to do the same thing as you. And when it works, baby, you’ve got wings. You know you’ve been somewhere most people will never get, you’ve been to a special place. And then you want to go back and keep landing again, and when you land you get busted. But you always want to go back there. It’s flying without a license.”

That legendary feel.

It said the gal you love is dead

2011-02-04T21:12:00.002+05:30

http://passionweiss.com/2011/02/02/the-union-forever-r-i-p-white-stripes-1997-2011/

Like Trey Kerby said, “I can’t get mad at four perfect records, two near perfect records, a billion B-sides that are better than most bands A-sides, an excellent live DVD, Meg White’s tits and the riff to “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Grass.”

OK fuckwit it's 'Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground'. But still...

quite the intense. and quite the apt.

Adreno Hoagie

2011-02-03T19:53:00.005+05:30

Bad Blood, sad freak
Torn up, real quick
Race driver, even higher
Fizzy scope, deep frier
Full-face helmet, shudder in the stands

Rampaging Michael, hot streak brother pram
Normal weirdness, drained old backhand
Fudge gone bleary, croquet firebrand

Vixen a-groovy, freeze-up a-dookie
Going down on Joanne
Flamboyant pudgy, broken arrow rad
Wood shaver sidekick, crack bow gone unplanned

Hair's all ruffled, Bo want a truffle
Lick the melting rubber band
Cross-filter kingdom, creamed through mid-on
Scratch Papa Dodo's back
Burned up barracks, got no saviour hand

IckyThumpThreeHourMatineeShowResultsInTheLamestCasinoBoogieTributeLyrics.

I'm sorry.

Angry Kettle Mac

2011-01-28T11:57:00.003+05:30

'Judge and jury walk out hand in hand
Dietrich movies, close up boogies,
Kissing cunt in Cannes
Grotesque music, million dollar sad'

Million Dollar Sad.

The New Barbarian

2010-11-26T14:53:00.005+05:30

Commander Harken: Battle of Serenity Valley took place there, if I recall.

Capt. Malcolm Reynolds: I believe you might be right.

Harken: Independents suffered a pretty crushing defeat there. Some say that after Serenity the browncoats were through, the war ended in that valley.

Reynolds: Hmm.

Harken: Seems odd you'd name your ship after a battle you were on the wrong side of.

Reynolds: May have been the losing side. Still not convinced it was the wrong one.

Seas would rise when I gave the word

2010-11-16T17:32:00.003+05:30

"After a race in which Michael Schumacher was almost decapitated and Sebastian Vettel became Germany’s second Formula One world champion you could almost picture the headlines: ‘The king is dead. Long live the king’."

That is what The Telegraph UK had to say.

Just you wait haters, just you wait.

I'm waiting as well.

A New King's Born Today

2010-11-15T21:09:00.008+05:30

OK, he was coronated yesterday. My bad.

What a season. WHAT. A. FUCKING. SEASON. It would be fair to say that in a season where four people were potentially in with a shot at the title in the last race, any one of them would've been a worthy champion. NOT ALONSO I SAY. But that's just me. I don't like his face, or indeed, anything else that has endeared him to some turncoats who rooted for him after having been dedicated(this stands to reason now) Schumacher loyalists at one point.

Speaking of Schumacher loyalists. I still am one ('HAHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH', I can hear you erupt... dude... don't choke now, drink some water). Yes. It has been a HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA season. It's been humiliating. It's been infuriating. It's been sad. I get that. I totally get that. But isn't that the whole point of being faithful to something?(Ooooh, heavy shit). I am not going to drop the 'doubt is a part of all religions' bomb (oh wait, I just did) but yes, that might be what I'm getting at. Here's to irrationally and stupidly hoping(and of course, praying) Schumi-Brawn get it right next year. And shut those fuckers up.

Sebastian Vettel, you are THE MACHA. Despite all that negative stupid press claptrap shadowing him ('His racecraft needs honing', 'He can only win from pole', 'He wins because he is RBR's darling', etc) throughout. Even Martin Whitmarsh dismissed him as a 'crash kid'. Thank you for giving me something to cheer about, something to take back from this monumentally crappy second half of the year. Much love to Luscious Liz and Randy Mandy. Multiple World Champion, FOSHO.

Red Bull for the way they went about it. Though their 'giving both drivers an equal shot' approach was criticized, they were vindicated at Yas Marina. It's scary imagining what would have happened if they had switched Vettel and Webber back in Brazil. I'll tell you what would have happened. Tamil in Persian script would have happened. The reason Ferrari ended up playing gillli-danda with their strategy is because they kept thinking of their man's position in relation to Webber(who had a bad weekend overall). They got jacked, big time. They should have paid more attention to finishing fourth, instead of trying to second-guess Webber and his pit-calls.

Special mention to Lewis Hamilton, Jenson Button and Mark Webber for having played their part. Even people like Kubica and Rosberg who quietly went about showing the world that they are potential champions-in-waiting who were handicapped by a stale vada of a car. Kobayashi for being the living, crashing and rampaging Gult movie on track at all times. Branson and Fernandes for acting like retards (with their bet) and Branson for being a (likeable) retard by honouring it. Vitaly Petrov! What badassery! It's deliciously ironic how Renault ended up thwarting the championship hopes of their ex-soanpaapdi. AAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH Alonso. Campion-del-Mundo failure GAHAHAHAHAHHA.

And isn't it poetic that Schumacher(albeit indirectly and extremely stupidly and embarrassingly) had a role to play in denying Alonso and the Scuderia the Championship? If he hadn't spun there and if Liuzzi's car hadn't ended up intercoursing the MGP W01, there would have been no safety car period. If that hadn't happened, Petrov and Rosberg wouldn't have pitted so early in the race. Petrov wouldn't have been in front of Alonso for over 30 laps as a result. Kubica wouldn't have been able to pit and retain track position ahead of Alonso. Alonso would have managed fourth.

Vettel would not have been world champion.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA Alonso and HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH Ferrari.

And Old Man, don't turn in your dentures just yet. We've got work to do.

Oh Carol

2010-10-09T03:31:00.002+05:30

Don't let him steal your heart away

And what else had I not expected?

2010-09-16T22:19:00.003+05:30

Look at what I stumbled upon today.

It's wayyy too dhinchak for me to say I like it more than the original, but...

WHAT A CORNELL.

Moment of Silence

2010-09-05T23:35:00.004+05:30

For Shoya Tomizawa, much loved in the MotoGP paddock.

And 13-year-old Peter Lenz who lost his life at the Indianapolis support race last week.

Misano, 5th September, 2010.

RIP, Shoya.

'Anything that happens before or after... is just waiting.'

what's that in your eye?

2010-09-04T01:26:00.000+05:30

come away, take a second
shoot yourself some time
dissolve some hair
in a flashy red beaker
drop out of it
and fall in right here
stick a foot out
and poke the
electric blue mashiakh
spin a jackrabbit
on your bleeding kneecap
way, farther down
feel a raised little nub
and lop off several
fragrant and squishy heads
grow some under
that fake medullar module
of that raised
and intensely luminiscent pinhead
there they were
languidly, smirkingly
casting some more
certainties mixed up
with a few what-ifs
and the rest
just bled slowly
slowly, ever so
ever more slowly
out on the sickly sweet
run on it and
keep on till
they tell you
to go further on

In My Fist

2010-08-20T22:15:00.000+05:30

I can see it but

my fingers keep

telling me

forty-six and a quarter

flamingly mindbending

lies and blurtruths

which are one and the same

Of course

What's wrong with me

Stretched my legs

on the responsive bed

And let

my big fat head

Fall back en route

to the welcoming pillow

But why is it taking

a thousand phone calls

to a capsicum-eating toad?

When will my sodding head

get to the crashing pillow?

Where am I at?

Are we there yet?

Oh, come on, come on

VanillacordialDiageocorpBoiledEggWithrunnyyolkSambharricereadymadeLetitbleedLetitfesterLetitgetinfected

Meatballsy

2010-08-19T18:08:00.003+05:30

OK, this one's from 'No Stone Unturned'. Appropriately named and all, but if you dismiss this as a mere 'Green Onions' ripoff, I'll appear in your nightmares and scream in bad Tamil while impersonating an overexcited cow. 'Green Onions' is great, so is 'Stoned'. Actually, I find the first 50 seconds of the song slightly annoying.

Then a certain Keith Richards' guitar kicks in. All is well with the world again.

LONG LIVE NANKER PHELGE!!!

Heavy Cloud / Where am I at?

2010-08-15T19:50:00.002+05:30

And now that we're grounded
Stick your tongue out and taste
The calamity hanging in the air
Enough of running and evading
Evilly, scarily shrouded
Ghostly and misty angelheads

Stop and breathe for a second
Something wearily beckons
And down comes the red rain
We've got to salvage something
Something precious, something treasured
Something from these remains

Now we stand defenceless
We'll be knocked out senseless
Now that the bubbling volcanoes
They have us arraigned
Don't bother thinking
Forget about reasoning
Take my trembling hand

And let's go down
In a great wall of flames

Every day I have the Blues

2010-08-08T23:05:00.006+05:30

Muddy Waters, BB King and Buddy Guy on one hand, Eric Clapton, Keith Richards and Jeff Beck on the other. I just can't stop listening to these Gurudevs.

Particularly Keith's version of Cocaine Blues:

PS: And this one for purely sentimental and true-to-current-imaginary-scenarios reasons:

Go sleep.

Schmatte, schmatte, SCHMATTE! I'm in TATTERS!

Kerplunk

2010-08-01T14:29:00.002+05:30

Towards the end of class 9, during the final exam jiving and the irritation and inconveniences of shifting, there was one song that was incessantly blasting in my head's internal soundsystem.

Yudhajit had acquired the cassette and it was on heavy rotation on our respective Walkmen. And the lyrics are gaining in volume(internally) all over again ever since I watched Bullet In A Bible.

It didn't say much but it only confirmed
That the centre of the earth is the end of the world

And I could really care less. Really.

Verge

2010-06-30T04:13:00.002+05:30

I thought I saw you in that movie
And I stayed up all night red-eyed
You froze out of the screen trembling
Like a leaf in the high winds might
Silently, you drew ever closer
I saw the twinkle in your firelit eyes
You whispered those freeing words
And my restive heart got some respite
Time won't wait any longer
Got to keep this dimming lamp alive
The riches at the end of the rainbow
Those are all that we need to find
And on the wave of these stolen moments
We will soar high, and dissolve out of sight

My wish of being named Casey Stoner seems to have been granted, don't you think? Call your annoying mutts off. NOW.

Whole Lotta Love?

2010-06-24T14:55:00.004+05:30

June 22nd was a really, really special day for four reasons, though the fourth one is utterly unimportant.

1. 'Stones in Exile' was released on that day. AND I SHALL WATCH IT TOMORROW.
2. Marshall Mathers finally got his 'Recovery' out of the way. Going by the initial reviews, I think I'll like it. My only gripe is that Dr. Dre has produced only one track.
3. John Isner and Nicolas Mahut started playing their megamatch on that day.
4. I told you the fourth reason is unimportant. Go away.

* It's here, then it's gone.

And so it goes on

2010-06-16T07:04:00.004+05:30

This one's been stuck for the past week or so and yes, it's rather appropriate.

'Yeah, when the train left the station
It had two lights on behind
Whoa, the blue light was my baby
And the red light was my mind'

'It's hard to tell, it's hard to tell... when all your love's in vain.' *

And Stana Katic is my crush of the month. Sigh.

* Love In Vain (Let It Bleed) - The Rolling Stones

Cocksucker Blues

2010-05-03T21:36:00.004+05:30

I shall reveal to you, my nonexistent reader, the ultimate and highest truth, the wisdom of the ages which no one has been able to apprehend yet.

It doesn't matter whether the brahman/atman is real or unreal, static or dynamic, existent or non-existent, barbecue sauce or non-barbecue sauce.

What matters though, is that the grades that we will receive will be real, static, existent, unmodifiable, immutable and most definitely, they will NOT be barbecue sauce.

And all those seers and rishis from centuries ago created tomes and tomes of irrelevant 'concepts' and 'truths' - obviously while being stoned out of their minds. Who knows, they might have had an awesome sense of humour and therefore they are responsible for a trip that has lasted for centuries now and is showing no signs of going anywhere.

I'm sure they've been laughing their asses off all these days. For them, this is just one long, MEGA-trip.

Gimme, gimme shelter

2010-04-25T22:20:00.006+05:30

This is prophetic/indicative/purely coincidental, whichever way you want to see it. But it happened thrice in the course of 12 hours, so there must be something to it. Even if there isn't.

My playlist on Winamp had some 120-odd songs, comprising artistes like Muddy Waters, The Rolling Stones, Circa Survive, The Prodigy, Massive Attack, The Tallest Man on Earth, The Police, The National, Eminem, Swervedriver, Kyuss, Tool, Run DMC, Beastie Boys, Queens of the Stone Age, Mos Def and some more. And the shuffle mode was on.

For reasons I shall keep to myself, I generally let the music play when I'm away for short periods of time. So, yesterday, when I got back from dinner, Merry Clayton was screaming, 'Rape... Murder. It's just a shot away, it's just a shot away.' I obviously didn't think much of it, but yes, it was a nice thing to hear because I just can't get enough of that song and that album.

Then again, when I was returning at half past 2 in the morning from - you don't need to know - I heard Keith and Bill rocking it out with those haunting chords. Same song.

And then the crowning glory was when I came back from lunch today. Shoving the key into the lock, I heard Mick going, 'If I don't get some shelter, oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away.' Of all those hundred songs, this is the one that had to somehow waft from the speakers as I approached the locked door of Pamba 516. And then I thought a lot of thoughts.

Most of those thoughts were about the endsem which I am about to write tomorrow.

Somewhere, a wild boar sucking on an ice-lolly is burping contentedly. Maybe I should just be an eco-friendly doormat and turn off my laptop when I'm away.

One Lysol-Vermouth. And lots of those olives.

2010-04-24T01:15:00.007+05:30

One eminent personality says that relying on a 'stream-of-consciousness' method of excreting words, sentences and exam answers, for that matter, is never a good idea.

Why, in the name of all that tries to be acceptable, would good ideas find a place here?

Hey, that fatfaced monkey is chomping on your slippers! Obese men in thongs are dancing evil dances on your bed! There is an army of murderous gnats hovering right outside your window!

But you're still here. So you might as well.

Sin city had this news
Some of them were human too
Swiveled out of harm's reach
Gunshots locked in a clattering medley

Free Surrender
Hope's just running
Holes are cut away

The only way they'll believe you
Is when they see you run away

Slaying trucking giant
Flaying and ducking crates

Run, swim Strake O'Cronwell
Hell is on your plate

Bled for your mezcal
Slid down it rough-shod
Slot into death row
Fed on your anger
Preyed on your smugness
Misread the fine print
Crashed into a stonewall

Would that be all?
No

Gone, snuffed out
Bled out of
The impassive sky
Oh, what a mess

Where did the cleaners run off to?

The Stones. Forever.

2010-04-10T02:53:00.004+05:30

A rather stupid debate. And there probably isn’t one at all. The Beatles vs. The Rolling Stones. No contest. They are both the greatest. Or there will be some who will say that The Beatles are the greatest, and by a considerable margin.

The funny thing is, I listened to The Beatles first. I remember ripping CDs of ‘The White Album’, ‘Sgt. Peppers’ Lonely Hearts Club Band’, ‘Rubber Soul’ and ‘Revolver’ when I was in class 8. And I listened to them then and liked them alright. I mean, we all had questionable tastes back then. If you say you didn’t like Linkin’ Park when you were 13, I’ll smash your beauteous face in.

But now, it’s The Rolling Stones. All the way. I’ve listened to everything by them now. Ah, and the best part is, they might just have yet another album left in them. And for the better part of five decades now, they have been the greatest live band of them all. Their energy, even at this age has to be seen to be believed. In 2007, they were the top-grossing band in the world. And the magic still endures. Just watch Scorsese’s ‘Shine A Light’, and you will know what I’m talking about.

Mick Jagger is the greatest frontman of them all and is still the loaded gun he’s always been. And Keith, well, what can I say about him that hasn’t already been said? Sorry, Lennon-McCartney but Jagger-Richards are way, wayyyy cooler.

The Stones have rocked my world in a way The Beatles never could.

Somehow, All You Need Is Love will never resonate with me the way Jumpin’ Jack Flash does.

Last name: Ever, First name: Greatest. Totally.

Wish my name was Casey Stoner

2010-04-09T00:18:00.000+05:30

Sugary equivocation from the setting sun
I might not be the only one
You're not there to break my fall
Your one touch could've healed it all
And I just die, drop by drop
Wish she'd told me when to stop
Floating with these wavering shadows
Splattering the impassive ceiling
Searching for your dogdy outlines
Marking out your lines in the shifting shapes
The scraggly troubadour's soaring wails
Cutting up this frozen night into two
Come let's get going one more time
Let's spin the wheel once again, it'll all be fine
Or you can just leave this place
And be someone else's someone else

This is NOT an attempt at potery. Shit, poetry. My rhyming is horrible, so is my sense of form and rhythm.

And Lionel Messi is the reason why. Of course he isn't, what am I saying.

It's like waking up from a really nice dream and finding yourself naked on a busy highway with mice hard at work on all your orifices.

And this too

2010-04-03T21:44:00.001+05:30

It's all very well reading exquisitely brilliant poetry, with all of that jaw-droppingly magnificent imagery, the slick craft, the mesmerizing flow and symmetry and turning those lines over and over again in your head, realizing that some things are just too fantastic to be written and yet for the particular writer they somehow weren't. And you reverently genuflect in front of such dazzlingly fantabulous artistry.

But there's another side to it too. Something nasty, vile, repulsive, ghastly and yet something that rips out your heartstrings or stretches your gallbladder out on a cycle rim and then does a John Bonham on it. That isn't what you'd call appreciating.

That, my non-existent readers, is what you'd call feeling. Or, in this case, feeling the shit.

The more you... put me through
The more it makes me wanna come back to you
You say you hate me, I just love you more
You don't want me, I just want you more
I buy you flowers, you throw 'em at me
I know it's sad but it's making me happy
The more that you slap me, the more that it turns me on
Cause you love me, and I love you more

What you say, what you do
I'ma hunt you down 'til I find you
No matter where you run, I'll be right there
Right behind you, in your nightmares
All the flowers, and the candy
All the times that you threw it back at me
You told me you hate me, you're gonna hate me more
When you find out, you can't escape me whore

Marshall Bruce Mathers III. From the track Love You More from the bootlegged 2003 EP, Straight From The Lab.

I know it's sad but it's making me happy.

Altered Cerium

2010-03-23T00:04:00.002+05:30

“For god’s sake, will you change into 4th? You want to rev the nuts off this snotbox?”

“Hell, yeah”, I say noncommittally and slot it into fourth. “Why are we even doing this? And what the hell is going on?”

“The Leaf said we’re supposed to keep on driving, and that’s exactly what we are going to do. And let’s not try to act smart. We’ve gotten this far. We’ve survived the encounter with Ratzen. And we can’t afford to blow this up. Focus. FOCUS!”

“Okay, okay, OKAY. But I’m not exactly pleased with what I am seeing.”

I really wasn’t. The sky was on fire. In sharp contrast to the sky was a towering structure owned by The Syndicate (or so the gargantuan neon signboard claimed). It looked like an enlargement of the internal mechanism of one of those ancient gearboxes, the cogs engaging and disengaging with deafening noises that threatened to rip the ground apart.

She goaded me on: “Shut up and drive. We need to get to wherever we need to be as soon as possible.”

“I’m not sure if we should.”

“Then you’re not sure if we shouldn’t.”

We were driving on a bridge over what used to be the river Qailaiea. Now it was a dynamic, shiny black mass of slime that stank to the high heavens. Unable to take it any longer, I puked all over the dashboard and swerved violently. The car broke through the iron railings and was free-falling into the darkness below.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” she yelled, and tried to grab at my throat in vain.

“Fuck this”, I shouted back.

And we went under.

Bad in the saddle again

2010-03-12T23:59:00.005+05:30

Yes, I'm fucking bad. But you can't stop me, can you?

More importantly, why on earth would you even want to? Don't you have worthwhile things to do in life?

Chew on this though: Sometimes, mind you, just sometimes, Pac's words ring truer than Hume's. Or Hobbes'. Or Locke's. Or Rohit Gurunath Sharma's, for that matter.

I was just saying...

It is dreary by day and fusty by night
The firebrands glow in the sodium-lamp’s light

Baleful moon, through these rusted bars be my guide
In your slithering shadows, pray, let me hide

Her eyes had scorched my senses, not unlike the noontime sun
My obsession for her justifies everything I have done

Here I am, fighting this war with only a wooden sword
Sparring with the unseen enemy, my thoughts an icy fjord

The bell tolls and the walls all dissolve away
A new reality emerges and slowly creeps up on me

While on my mind the spiteful fiends and phantoms prey
The jailor turns the key, twisting the dagger of fate

Someplace far away an aggrieved wolf bays and moans
And I let out an anguished sigh, and ascend my fiery throne

'I smoke blunts to take the pain out and if I wasn't high I'd probably blow my brains out' - Tupac Amaru Shakur. But you don't know who he is. You're cool.

What we talkin' about?

2010-02-22T23:51:00.003+05:30

Back to the musical discoveries I was talking about in the previous post. In addition to good old classic rock which I totally adore and revere, I have gradually become a regular listener of hip-hop, rap, trance, trip-hop, electronica, punk, as well as lots of Brit indie.

Yes. Most of the stuff I’ve recently started listening to isn't on LAN (Hardly a surprise. There wasn't even a proper Bruce Springsteen/The Rolling Stones/Sting/The Police/Bob Dylan catalogue on LAN the last time I checked. Probably because they aren't called GIGAMETH or LAMP IN A POD. I don't know). Mediafire zindabaad. Megaupload too. Though the considerate folks at Megaupload do not allow parallel downloads. And the insti net is about as fast as a blind monkey on meth. Or like… something. I’m sure you can do better than that. It requires patience to download stuff, but it is rewarding. At least it was to me.

So, this is a random pick of ten albums that I have been rotating non-stop on Winamp over the past month or so. If you strongly believe that ‘RAP IS NOT MUSIC’, or that ‘ELECTRONIC MUSIC SOUNDS THE SAME EVERYWHERE’, or that ‘DJs JUST ADD A RANDOM SAMPLE BEAT TO CREATE A TRACK’…

Fuck off. Go pontificate about your impressive understanding of music somewhere else.

1. Blue Lines : Massive Attack

Yes, you have heard of them because ‘Teardrop’ is the theme song for the Fox TV Show, House MD. But Blue Lines, and not Mezzanine is them at their finest. Don’t just take my word for it. Q readers voted it number 9 in a poll for the 100 Greatest British Albums Ever. The tracks ‘Unfinished Sympathy’, ‘Be Thankful For What You Got’ and ‘Blue Lines’ stand out in this superb album.

2. Up the Bracket : The Libertines

Prior to listening to The Libertines, I knew Pete Doherty only as the guy Kate Moss dumped after making some disparaging comments about how well-endowed he was. Or wasn’t. My bad. He was part of one of the most awesome bands ever, and sadly they broke up after releasing only a couple of albums, one in 2002(this one), the second in 2004. As Doherty croons in their self-titled second album, ‘What Became of the Likely Lads?’

The Libertines play a fast and dirty brand of music, with Carl Barat and Doherty providing all the vocal fireworks. Chosen tracks – ‘Vertigo’, ‘Death on the Stairs’, ‘Up the Bracket’, ‘Boys In The Band’… you know what? Screw this. I love the entire album to bits.

3. The Low End Theory : A Tribe Called Quest

I had recently listened to Q-Tip’s The Renaissance and had liked it. And then I started listening to A Tribe Called Quest (he had been a part of the group until they disbanded in 1998), the iconic hip-hop group which I was till then, sadly unaware of. And this album just shows us why they are among the greatest ever. One can safely say this album was the holy grail of alternative hip-hop. Jazz and hip-hop had never been this fantastically and seamlessly blended. Q-Tip and Phife are in fine form here – they effortlessly bounce off each other's verses. My picks – ‘Verses from the Abstract’, ‘Vibes and Stuff’, ‘Check the Rhime’, ‘Jazz (We’ve got)’.

4. In My Memory : Tiesto

The biggest and most accomplished DJ ever, without a doubt. So it was not at all surprising when he played live at the opening ceremony of the 2004 Athens Olympics. In My Memory is my favourite record of his (still puzzled as to why Allmusic gives it a couple of stars only) – and guest vocals by Kirsty Hawkshaw, Jan Johnston and Nicola Hitchcock lift the mood even more. ‘Battleship Grey’ is an absolute favourite.

5. Music for the Jilted Generation : The Prodigy

‘Blown away’ is the only way to describe the effect this album has on its listener. The Allmusic review puts it aptly – ‘Sonic Terrorism’ with the never dying energy each track brings to the room. Forget the Black Eyed Peas, this is where ‘The Energy Never Dies’. And I haven’t even listened to their other albums properly yet. Selected tracks – ‘Full Throttle’, ‘Voodoo People’, ‘Poison’, ‘The Narcotic Suite : Skylined’.

Oh, and the album title was the sole reason I listened to this one first, instead of listening to their debut album, ‘Experience’. This album was my first brush with hardcore techno. Wow. WOW.

6. The Mix-Up : Beastie Boys

Why am I not talking about ‘Paul’s Boutique’ when I have to choose only one album from Beastie Boys’ (Yes, there is no ‘The’ in their name) discography? Because it is one of the greatest records ever made and it doesn’t need my thumbs-up.

The Mix-Up, on the other hand is, as the Beasties themselves put it, a ‘post-punk instrumental’ album. But what would a Beastie album be, without Mike D, Ad Rock and MCA killing it on the mic? Pretty solid, as it turns out. Preferred tracks – ‘Suco de Tangerina’, ‘Freaky Hijiki’, ‘The Cousin of Death’.

7. Dig Your Own Hole : The Chemical Brothers

The first track, very aptly titled ‘Block Rockin’ Beats’ neatly sets the tone for what went on to be regarded as one of the finest big beat electronic records ever. The Chemical Brothers distort samples and riffs at will almost as if it were being done by right. The heavy synths and pounding beats take you along for the ride and then kick you right out. And you’ll want it again. Also listen to – ‘Setting Sun’, ‘It Doesn’t Matter’, ‘Elektrobank’.

8. It’s Dark and Hell is Hot : DMX

The album has a very ominous ring to it, what with the name and all. And it completely stays true to the first impression it makes on you. The dark, sinister beats and the hardcore, ferocious, relentless, snarly and gravelly flow of DMX hit the listener in the face with a sledgehammer. The lyrics, though admittedly violent, horrific and gruesome, are loaded with symbolism and meaning, though I wouldn’t obviously go as far to say they are profound and of immense literal value. Think ‘I sold my soul to the Devil, the price was cheap/And it’s cold on this level, and it’s twice as deep’, and you’ll have an idea of what I mean. Select songs – ‘Intro’, ‘Ruff Ryders’ Anthem’, ‘Get At Me, Dog’, ‘X is Coming’, ‘Let Me Fly’, ‘Stop Being Greedy’.

What a debut. What an album. ‘TALK IS CHEAP, MUTHAFUCKA!’

9. Sirens of the Sea : Oceanlab

Another of my favourite trance records – this one’s got lilting, teasing melodies for the most part with the beats and sounds to match. Justine Suissa’s vocals are the reason this album rises from being a good one to a bloody good one. It isn’t exactly an album to which one can groove to on the dance floor, yet it is no less magnificent. Oceanlab and Above and Beyond, who were known for their epic trance tracks take a different approach here – most of the songs are 4 to 5 minutes long and still pack the same punch. Brillance.

Picks – ‘Sirens of the Sea’, ‘Miracle’, ‘On a Good Day’, ‘On the Beach’.

10. Mezcal Head : Swervedriver

I first heard of Swervedriver while leafing through a TopGear India issue a year or so ago. One of the tracks they recommended for ‘system up with the top down’ drives on the highway was the song ‘Duel’ from this album. And once I listened to that, I was hooked. The scorching, relentless sound of their guitars defines the band’s musical character. Their lyrics are often about cars and films, and this only helps. Mezcal Head’s got awesomeness written all over it – it’s a pity Swervedriver didn’t become all that famous. But don’t let that deter you. Listen to them. It’s going to be totally worth your time.

Selected tracks – ‘Duel’, ‘Blowin’ Cool’, ‘For Seeking Heat’, ‘Last Train to Satansville’, ‘Girl on a Motorbike’, darn, pretty much everything.

Actually, all this effort is useless. Nobody reads this blog and nobody listens to these kinds of music. There’s no point.

But consider the alternative I had – a term paper on Machiavelli’s Discourses and how he talks of corruption in the republican form of government. At least that’s what I think it’s about.

I’m very, very happy I could bring myself to write all this down. Had been meaning to for quite a while, but had never really felt like it. This is probably the first substantial and meaningful post I’ve ever made on this crappy blog.

WHOOPTY WHOOP!

Let's go take a bath

2010-02-22T19:09:00.003+05:30

It's hardly a surprise that my musical discoveries happen during these quizzes and end-sems. Not that I am complaining.

Last night, I was so enlightened after trying to read bits of Machiavelli and Hobbes with DJ Tiesto and DJ Armin van Buuren providing a pulsating background soundtrack that I decided to 'Drop the World'(Weezy fuckin' baby) and decide upon my next course of action. This was at 12:35 AM. I was about to do something earth-shattering.

I had decided to take a bath. A good 45 minute long bath. The water was cold-ish. So I turned on the shower and stood in the dry for about 10 minutes. Wasn't half as scary as the quiz eventually turned out to be, but still. And then I had to do pathetic hip-hop steps and gradually position myself appropriately.

I'm going in the wrong direction again. Habit.

Bring on the night

2010-02-07T20:09:00.006+05:30

Generally, I do useless things on the internet. Rest assured, this thing isn't. A really, really fab interview of one of the greatest singers/bassists/songwriters ever and certainly my favourite songwriter. Gordon Sumner. You might not have heard of him.

Some snatches of the interview I really enjoyed:

Q: What else are you looking forward to?

A: "The ride. The curiosity of what happens next. When I left teaching they said, ‘If you leave now you will lose your pension,’ and I could see myself at 58 as a deputy head with a pension in the offing, and that’s why I left. I didn’t want to see the future. I wanted to spin the wheel and I’m glad to have spun the wheel a few times. I would like to settle down at some point… It doesn’t mean I will, though."

And some tips from someone who most certainly knows what he's talking about:

"I think all the women in my life have satisfied the various archetypes of my mother: the wife, the lover, the mistress, the unattainable female mystery. She encompassed a lot of it. I don’t think you will ever get to the bottom of a woman. I don’t think men are wired to understand, and I think that’s fantastic – a constant mystery. I think I know what women want now though."

In what way? "I think women want to be asked what they want. One shouldn’t just assume." Do you mean what shall we eat, what shall we do tonight? "Everything." Do you want to have sex now? "All those things." You actually ask do you want to have sex? "Of course. Do you think a man should just club you and drag you down into the cave?" No, but I think it’s something you should already know. "Well, you need to read the signals, but they need to be asked. It’s a question of manners."

The entire interview can be found here.

So there. Run off now. Go have your mosquito soup. It's going cold.

Too much trance and too much...

2010-02-06T22:37:00.004+05:30

In that moment of falling

No one saw those wings growing

Now the blood runs thicker

And the hurt stabs quicker

Her body sways and grooves to the pulsing beat

In the pallid shadows he stands observant yet discreet

He tastes her in every flaming drop he drinks

His senses by her luminescent curves hoodwinked

His is the face seen in the mournful moon

She would forever be his mysterious rune

Cursed to stay distant, condemed not to touch

In this smouldering instant, he wishes for just as much

His heart keeps racing, she's set it alight

Racing no one, with no chequered flag in sight

This is what happens after knocking back 4 glasses of 'Be what you want to be...' alongwith whatever was left in the litchi juice tetrapack. That, alongwith a playlist of the most captivating, pulsing and groovy trance tracks. Newfound addiction. Jan Johnston, Justine Suissa, Nadia Ali, Karen Overton, ooooh, sexy people, sexier voices... I'm knocked out enough to blabber uncontrollably, yet not out-of-hand enough to not be able to find the correct key to type all this in. I'm doing OK with the mouse too. No, you don't. The Virgin GP car has to be THE coolest car of the '10 season, despite my unconditional love for the Germanic understated-ness of the Merc. What's this trash I've written here? Lyrically, it's very evidently shitty, but wait till I find a proper DJ who'll to set these words to a beat and create a proper track... and watch me levitate. van Buuren, Tiesto, van Dyk - are you guys listening? Drove the Pajero around a bit. With the 4WD on, driving it on the beach was great fun too. Still prefer the automatic Prado though. All this on my mind, what was it again? Was I thinking about somebody? Rubbished the benign seven plan at Bessie. Would have been pretty inoffensive. Hah, no way. My dream 250 GTO, dressed in Nero Daytona. I'm limited to wishing for the unattainable. Laugh all you want, you creeps. I can delete this tomorrow. I shouldn't. I won't. I probably will. Will I? naaaah.....

They call me Schumi - I'm back, I'm back...

2010-01-26T02:43:00.007+05:30

'From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadow shall spring.

Renewed shall be blade that was broken;

The crownless again shall be king.'

He who can, does. He who cannot, doubts. Lots of idiots have been pontificating about the 'cheat' and the 'dick dastardly' over-the-hill greybeard who's come back just to serve his own twisted sense of self-interest and ‘take the sport back to its dark ages’. Time for something 'downmarket', eh you doormats?

Another of my idols for whom subtlety is the least preferred weapon says something relevant:

'But the game ain’t gonna be the same on the day that I leave it
I swear one way or another I’ma make these fucking haters believe it,
I swear to God, I won’t spare the rod, I’m a man of my word
So your fucking heads better nod
I’m gonna fuck around in this bitch and roast everybody
Sleep on me that pillow is where your head will lie, permanently bitch it’s beddy-bye,
This world is my Easter egg, yeah, Prepare To Die'

Yes. Prepare to die.

This flow is gonna bring more dough

2010-01-24T11:21:00.005+05:30

‘Hunting blackbuck is illegal – more illegal than rapping at the WM solo event.’

Hey, that’s funny! No offence to the newsletter people – you’ve been doing a fab job by letting us in on all the latest dope on Saarang as it marches on. You are bone-crunchingly funny and all and no one’s taking potshots at you. This thing is a general perception here – that line just got to me and here I am, getting to nobody. Who the fuck reads this anyway?

An insignificant wart on the insti’s grand posterior of things like me doesn’t even merit an itch, but seriously, rapping is illegal, but guttural growling that sounds only as melodious and rhythmic as a bag of spanners being shaken by a drunk chimp to ear-splitting, driving ‘chords’ which make the poor guitar sound like someone’s scraping the loading bay of a cargo ship with a shovel is? The only truly awesome thing about that kind of music is the drumming, which bleeds coolness from everywhere. But you like headbanging, having bramble-bushes for beards, and smoking lots of trees, and how else are you going to do that if not for this delightful music? Rap is actually way better (though, admittedly not if you listen to Vanilla Ice or MC Hammer) and of course, the dopest and illest rhymes with awesomely witty wordplay and the thumping snare drums and the heavy synths help.

'The greatest death metal musicians almost can't make a living with what they do, and yet the musicians in these bands continue on in spite of their obscurity. Death metal is so non-mainstream that its musicians have to work incredibly hard for their career sales to reach even a million copies (which less than 6 death metal musicians have actually done).'

From Wikihow

Hah. Serves them right. See, taking shots at this is even easier. One would be too indifferent to this trash to give a damn, but well, who started it?

Of course, music and the way someone perceives it is a very personal thing, but quit dissing something you know nothing about.

Take your motherfucking death metal and stuff it up your intestines. No wonder Chuck Schuldiner died of brain cancer.

Brake Point

2009-12-05T00:48:00.005+05:30

♫ "Already Home" (feat. Kid Cudi) - Jay-Z on the music system

Season review time. If you are indeed an F1 fan, I don't expect you to be reading this. Go read the season reviews written by James Allen or Peter Windsor or just listen to Sir Jackie Stewart in his tweed coat banging on about what he feels about the way things panned out.

I just felt weird when the lighting systems at the Abu Dhabi circuit died out and left behind a stark darkness as opposed to the brilliantly illuminated giant jellyfish skin they had swathed the entire main grandstand complex with. Jenson Button and Brawn were already champions and they didn’t really have to…

No. I didn’t feel weird. I felt disgusted at that moment because my brain stopped being absorbed in the race and I gradually felt my olfactory senses pick up the most revolting stench that I’d been oblivious to thus far - I'd been too busy drinking in the visuals.

What else do you expect from a room that has no air-conditioning, no proper ventilation, unwashed and un-disinfected ancient carpets, and is generally occupied by those hordes from that state between Tamil Nadu and the pointless Orissa? Oh, and the monkeys occasionally pop in for a dump. And then leave.

I mean, this season shook it all up for the sport. Or the entertainment show(as the honourable Government of India likes to see it). Ferrari and McLaren, the ‘big boys’ could only whimper with their tails ‘twixt their legs while Brawn and later Red Bull brawn-ed and bull-ed their way to an eventual contest between each other for the titles. I’m sure all the Ferrari and McLaren haters(there seem to be some) were overjoyed that this year had been a nice little kick up their backsides. Truth be told, yes, it was really good to see someone else do the winning for a while.

But the novelty factor soon wore off, because Brawn had been blitzing everyone else for the first one-third of the season. Yes, the double diffuser thing helped, but Williams and Toyota had it too – that didn’t make them that awesome. So, we should give credit where it’s due. Ross Brawn, Nick Fry to a certain extent and the exiting Honda management to a small yet no less significant extent.

And of course, the new Brit hero, Jenson Button. Finally. After that promising start to his career with Benetton and Williams, nobody had bet against him not winning a championship before he turned 29. And yet, that’s what happened with him languishing at the luckless Honda pitwall for over 6 years. If people say he doesn’t deserve the championship, well, they should just shut up. There have been a few such champions in the past, and there will be such champions in the future – a champion is a champion is a champion. And Button deserves it, as much as anyone of his other challengers did. After all these years of frustration and anger, it almost seems poetically apt that Button won the title he so badly wanted in this dramatic fashion. Senna had once appropriately remarked, “Every year, there is a winner of the World Championship, but not necessarily a champion.” However, the record books think otherwise and so we should just shut our mouths and move on.

I was totally crushed for Sebastian Vettel. I’ve been looking out for him ever since he set those blinding times during the free practice for the 2006 Italian GP, and 2009 was the year he should have won that title. I won’t go on and on about how some errors, from himself and from Red Bull, and plain old bad luck conspired to deny him what would have been a stupendous achievement. And he just goes hard at it all the time – he can’t just think of getting the car home and bagging a few points. That’s not his style. And I love his attitude. He wasn’t like, “I’ll be stronger because I have learned to lose” or “Losing is part of the game” or “I have grown as an individual” or any of that regular drivel all these smooth-talkers say when they lose. Instead, he said:

“I wish I didn’t have to say it, but I hate losing. I think I knew it all along, but now I am definitely sure. But somehow that doesn’t only go for racing - I’m afraid I hate losing in anything I am doing - whether it is playing a silly game, or football, I obviously simply hate to lose.”

That’s definitely the guy I see as one whose side I am on. Ah, you’re wondering why? Who’s that dude I worship?

And who is that person we are not talking about? Yes, mister, you. You should stop saying “I have never accepted that I wasn’t as good as Michael.” About time.

Oh, and watch out for yet another young German in the immediate future, Nico Hulkenberg. He will probably turn out to be as good as Vettel. Yes.

Anyway, I’m mega-pissed at Ferrari for letting Kimi Vodkanen go, by terminating his contract that would have expired in 2010, all because President Montezemolo wanted Fernando Teflonso in the team. And that’s the reason I am going to be a Mercedes supporter in case, IN CASE Schumi decides to haul his ass into their racecar for the next season. Ferrari and Schumacher fans shouldn’t see him as a traitor who’s ‘forsaken his loyalty to the team with which he’s spent the golden years of his illustrious career’. If Ferrari can hire Alonso, then without an iota of doubt, Michael occupies a higher moral ground if he decides to get himself released from the ‘Consultant’ position at Maranello and drive for the German company who funded his rise through the junior classes and the DTM. So the Ferraristi in Michael’s camp, shut your miserable whining traps and scream for the Silver Arrows henceforth. My reverence for Ferrari the Manufacturer remains undiminished, but Ferrari the Formula 1 Team? They’d have to do something special to win me back. Hah. Like they need to, or like they ever will. They’ll just ask me to go fuck myself.

So, as a pre-emptive measure, I shall hit ‘Publish’, re-enable μ Torrent, rise from this chair I’m sitting on…

…and do just that.

See you later, infected crimson pustules.

Scaredy Crap

2009-10-11T04:40:00.012+05:30

Jump back, what's that rumbling sound?

You avoid an enraged colugo that's just come down

Perspiring glassy beads, your skin's goose-pimpling,

You feel a frantic fear, and you just can't stop its incessant gaveling

Instantaneously, you scamper and quicken your pace up

Could also be the Fizestra behind you, it wants to cut you up

Now, you should have fallen down and splintered a bone

You should've been writhing in pain, your shrieks would bother them none

And then it would come oh-so-close to you and smell you out

You'd know it's gonna be over, there ain't a shadow of a doubt

You grab a fallen branch, turn and swing it around right then

Of course there's nothing right there, its just the hallucinogens

You're confounded and dazed again, you're brain-fucked again

Daft doorknob, they're using you - you're just an experiment

They're killing you no more than they're feeding infants wet cement

Shut the fuck up now and get ready, there's another test

Chew up this Peruvian Torch, so what if your mouth's abscessed?

Lesions and contusions? Just this one, we'll see what they crack

And after stitching you up, you'll land slap-bang in rehab

And is there any other place you'd rather be?

Yes, the pain's there and yeah, you do bleed

But this acid trip is all you're ever going to need

It's 4:45 in the morning. And I am generally irritated. This was written in 15 minutes flat. I have scaled new heights of horrible-ness. It's quite pathetic, but let me tell you something. 50 Cent could do with a wack songwriter. He needs one.

Sigh. It has come to this.

It's all askew

2009-10-06T03:01:00.004+05:30

Hey, randomly shitting on blogspot is good fun. That too without having my blog URL and title in capitals on my gmail status message, mind you.

So, let's nuke it:

Sittin' on a boulder, little Burt wonders, 'What do I do?'

'Should I point my pencil at my eye and drive it straight through?'

'Or should I be still and watch the bird crapping on Roxy's statue?'

Now he's at home with his Math homework, he's got a lot to do

'What's the interest on this instalment, what does it accrue to?'

Mathematics tortures him, and it all seems scarier than voodoo

Cold fusion is idle speculation, a theory they all eschewed

While he whiled away his time, an intense battle brewed

He'd neglected the murderous Macbeth - a huge assignment was due

Enough - he locked himself in the bathroom - a self imposed curfew

Reached into the toilet tank and fished out the bottle of Quaaludes

He swallowed them all, and then lived out a million bedazzling hues

♫ It's 3 AM in the morning... Really.

Laz-Y-Boy Bloggerturd

2009-10-02T03:51:00.001+05:30

I would have been writing about a lot of things if they had been slightly different. Like if Schumi had made that sensationalunbelievableoutoftheworldheroic comeback. Like if Britney Spears had taken the stage at a sold-out concert and exploded. Like if India would have actually justified it's obsession with the retarded game of cricket. Like if I would have grown a third head when there had never been a second.

All of that didn't happen. What did happen was that we had to write a 'walking poem'(yes, this is yet another gandu doing what everyone else has done) and I wrote a poem which doesn't deserve to be called a poem because I can't write poems and if I can't write poems this can't possibly be a poem. But write I did. And though I agree that one of the justifications for shutting down all the blogging sites would be the leeway that poop-spewers like me get when it comes to putting up any and everything we think of on our blogs when none of it deserves to be even on the back of a shopping list, I'm not going to let that shame me into not posting it.

Yes, there is a serious lack of content here and to keep this blog alive, I have to flog it to within an inch of its life.

Prepare to be 'Oww'-ed:

As I amble along this forest path

A light breeze swirls around the leaves

The slanting afternoon sun breaks through the foliage

Its rays tinted all purple and orange

A gnarled, rotting trunk lies on the forest floor

In a pitiable state of decay

The living trees around it seem dark and almost mournful

Melancholic and sorrowful at this untimely demise

I walk on slightly despondent, but little do I know

On that very trunk, a little Peepul plant grows

Maggots and earthworms scuttle around in its rotting innards

And a clump of tumbleweeds bloom in all their unwanted glory

The rotting, visibly lifeless trunk

Once supple, mirthful and erect

No, it isn’t dying.

In these numerous, unwitting beneficiaries

It lives on.

And so do I. I live, despite writing this. Life's fair. Sort of.

Don't do it

2009-09-26T21:19:00.007+05:30

My tonsils have decided to act funny once again. As a result, I've been coughing like an old, beaten-up Chevy's starter on a sub-zero morning. Each time I cough my cough, every muscle in my body feels like it's compressing into a bolus, and then exploding before coming together again and repeating the cycle. The back of my head especially feels like it's going to come apart at the sutures.

Enter Roxid. I finally gave in(after consulting Dad, OBVIOUSLY), because Wikoryl didn't work, and Crocin was useless - the bodyache was killing me. So, last night I gulped down my first Roxid and for the aches, a Nimesulide tab went down with it.

And today, thanks to Mamu, I had a Combiflam tab a while back. And as I am now on antibiotics, having(or not having) cold stuff to drink makes not a jot of a difference. So, in the past 4-5 hours or so, I've slammed down a glass of chilled orange juice, 2 cans of Diet Coke, a giant glass of self-made cold coffee, and several glasses of chilled water. All this despite my rebellious and sorely sore throat.

So what if you've fallen ill? Just do it.

And stop reading this asinine blog.

What if...

2009-09-12T01:21:00.006+05:30

This is going to be a very short post. I am mega-pissed off that the USTA is doing this to Rafael Nadal Parera. Or it's just the Fates who probably think it's some kind of joke. He now has to play 4 consecutive days of tennis at the US Open, and all this after having to play the last night matches in the previous rounds. After the match against Gael Monfils, I think both of them left the court at 1:20 AM NY time. I shall not talk about his strained abdominal muscles because the man himself doesn't want to. It seems as if the stars are all aligned against him and are doing everything they can to prevent him from holding aloft the trophy in the Arthur Ashe Stadium.

However, having said all that, I also know that if anyone can tide over these obstacles and still do it, it's that man Rafa. And what shall be even more satisfying is that we fans can shout, "Up yours, USTA, the Weather Gods, and whoever else wants him to give up!".

It is a very tall order and his championship hopes might even be snuffed out by Gonzalez tonight itself. But what if he does it? I know it's a bit like speculating on the taste of the omelette even as it is still a zygote within the hen, but hey, can you stop me from enjoying the hypothetical occurrence of this happy possibility?

But what are you going to do if this slight possibility becomes a reality?

-----

From an AFP newscast:

"Nadal hopes to complete a career Grand Slam with a US Open title and such a run would continue a tradition of historic crowns won in rain-hit years.

Don Budge completed the first calendar-year Grand Slam in 1938 after a hurricane halted play for a record six days. Rod Laver finished off the second men's Slam with a Monday win in 1962 and his second Slam in 1969 on a Monday."

Is my evil, shrieking laughter making your ears bleed?

RIP Lusk, Surtees, and all the others who've left us. And SHUT UP, YOU HEALTH AND SAFETY RETARDS.

2009-08-13T23:20:00.009+05:30

It’s been a tough year for motorsport – chiefly because of the high-profile deaths that have brought back into sharp focus the proximity to death these superstars face every time they put their machines into gear and gun their engines.

Chief among the casualties have been Jeremy Lusk - Metal Mulisha rider, Freestyle Motocross superstar and Henry Surtees – F2 driver, son of the legendary John Surtees. Another recent headline-grabbing incident was Felipe Massa’s crash during the qualifying session of the Hungarian Grand Prix. And there must be several others I've missed.

These superstars who straddle the worlds of adventure sport and motorsport have come on board and given the best years of their lives to their chosen sport, knowing full well that their next stunt or race could turn out to be their last.

Which is why this stupid furore that’s been raised by these armchair ‘experts’ over the safety protocols existing in these sporting disciplines and whether they are enough to ensure the absolute safety of the people involved in it, right from the drivers and riders to the girls serving beer in the hospitality areas is totally infuriating. However, not for a moment am I suggesting that a Robbie Maddison should wear a fluffy magenta tutu while performing his backflip.

All I am saying is, ‘LEAVE THESE PEOPLE ALONE’. What more can the FIA do? Limit speeds in Formula One to 2.2287 km/h? Make the X-Games a video-game contest? Mistakes are made. Shit just happens. There is no way one can protect himself against the fickle ways of chance. Each of the people involved in these high-risk sporting events are the best out there. And they are certainly not irrational or stupid or unreasonable. If they think about doing something, it’s because they think and, more importantly they know they can. Whether they will, or whether they go out in a fireball of metal and glory is something they just have to check out for themselves. And they also have to perform the onerous task of filling out gazillons of health and safety forms.

An accident is something that is always waiting to pounce on even the most benign of human endeavours. You can slip in your bathroom while taking a bath and singing ‘Start me up’, bang your head on the faucet and be as dead as a doornail instantly. If you want to protect yourself against this eventuality, don’t take a bath. Ever. But in that case you will end up choking people around you to their deaths, your body is going to be infested with all micro-organisms known to man and you’ll die a slow, painful and, worst of all, malodorous death. And nobody will be applauding you as you go out with a whimper.

Take the bathroom option instead. In the tribute show put together by ESPN for Lusk, a segment talked about the kind of injuries these athletes have had to endure during the course of their career, and some of the responses were – “I had the entire left side of my torso ripped off”, “The handlebar went through my gut”, “I lost my kidney”, “One of my testicles was ripped off”.

So why do they still do it? These guys also have families – Jeremy is survived by his wife, Lauren. Is it worth risking it all when you can lose the people you love the most?

Of course it effing is. These people risk it because they don't know how to do anything else. They tread the fine line between daredevilry and lunacy day in and day out because they have to. And they aren’t endorphin-addled teenagers going mental with all the horsepower under their right foot or wrist. They are supremely skilled, extremely meticulous in their preparation, and they have a support team that does everything to ensure their safety. But they can’t accident-proof themselves. And I also think they don’t mind dying while doing something they love doing. It’s all worth it.

So, the next time you hear of such a death due to a horrific accident, feel a little sad for the dude who screwed up, and all the people who were behind him. But don’t, for a moment insult his memory by thinking he’d been stupid. He was being perfectly rational. It’s not like he had a choice. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to change anything he’s done in his life, if he were given a chance.

RIP Lusk, Surtees and everyone else who’s no longer with us. We’ll miss you guys. The loss is ours, and only ours.

-----

While I'm eagerly waiting for 'Relapse 2' and 'Detox', I'm listening to 'The Marshall Mathers LP' and 'The Chronic'. Fall Out Boy is also good fun to listen to. All this peppered with the occasional Aerosmith, U2, Springsteen, Sting, Rolling Stones, Pearl Jam song.

Sheer Uselessness

2009-08-10T22:47:00.002+05:30

Again, this is one of those intelligent Facebook-Notes enterprises, which I shall use to fill my blog up. I suck. Big time.

There are a lot of artists I’d have wanted to select for this. But I realized I had no other alternative. His music occupies the rarefied zone of my subconscious. No, I'm not 'putting pseud' here, but this is something I just can't put a finger on. For me, Slim Shady is the first and last option, despite the fact that choosing The Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, The Police, U2, Aerosmith or some other such band would have been a lot more conventional(and the answers would have come more easily) and I like those bands just as much.

But when has a Shady fan ever done ‘sensible’?

Anyway, here we go:

Pick Your Artist:
Eminem (Marshall Bruce Mathers III)

Are you a male or female?
Superman

Describe yourself:
Soldier

How do you feel:
Hellbound

Describe where you currently live:
Amityville

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
Underground

Your favourite form of transportation:
Under The Influence

Your best friend is:
The Flyest Material

Your favourite colour is:
The Sauce(That's the closest to red I got)

What's the weather like:
Beautiful

Favourite time of day:
3 AM

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:
No Apologies

What is life to you:
Same Song and Dance

Your current relationship:
Crazy In Love

Breaking up:
My Fault

Looking for:
Medicine Ball

Wouldn’t mind:
Bagpipes from Baghdad

Your fear:
When the Music Stops

What is the best advice you have to give:
Stay Wide Awake

If you could change your name, you would change it to:
Jimmy Crack Corn

Thought for the Day:
Just Lose It

How I would like to die:
Like Toy Soldiers

My motto:
Run Rabbit Run

Well, that's done. So you can do something useful. Chew on these lines from 'Till I Collapse':

Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out - am I high? Perhaps
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.
Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out and my high burn out
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.

Totally, Em! We'll be screaming for you till the very end.

Random 1

2009-08-04T21:18:00.006+05:30

Malvika Singh in The Telegraph(Calcutta) today, in her column, writes:

The strange reality in India is that whenever an individual performs, delivers or acts outside the borders of status quo politics, the rest in the larger ‘club’, who have not made it, pounce on the person, usually surreptitiously, in a desperate effort to destroy the credibility and dignity of that individual. This happens in politics, in business, in the service sector, everywhere. If you are under attack and being abused, accused and more, it means you have arrived. That is the insane way in which India celebrates its best and its brightest. Examples from the realm of politics are Manmohan Singh, who was deemed ‘weak and malleable’, Sonia Gandhi, who was damned by the Opposition for decades, and Rahul Gandhi, who was pooh-poohed as an incompetent ‘heir’. When the trajectory changes, critics become sycophants.

I have to say I agree.

And I shoved down two slices of bread smeared with a combination of barbecue sauce, mustard sauce and a little bit of salsa.

You haven't ever done this?

But then, have you ever thought of cutting off your left arm and then beating yourself to death with it?

For old times' sake

2009-08-01T21:32:00.006+05:30

‘And this time, it's going to be brilliant’, were my thoughts when I disembarked from the train and was mighty chuffed to find everything so ‘in-sync’(for want of a better expression) – that car, that front seat, that stereo playing the same old CD, passing that Green-and-Yellow gate on GT road, that Kolkata Knight Riders’ Billboard(:o), etc.

And yet there was this voice at the back of my head which said, ‘Stop it – this rummy feeling isn’t going to last for long. Before you know it, it’s gonna be gone’. Understandably, I scoffed at even the slightest thought of the hols ending. Three months is a long, long time yaar. Now I have to go and vote as well, first thing in the morning. Will it be the Reds or will it be a Trinamool whitewash (err, greenwash)? Why am I thinking of all that bilge? And so I filed away that unsavoury thought somewhere far, where it wouldn’t be able to needle me.

It’s surprising how easily one can get back into that old way of doing things. It’s no point living in the past – I know someone who’d sneer and say these exact words. Well, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to live in the past. The past lives on… in you. And you don’t take a couple of days to ‘acclimatise’ to the change. You know how to deal with it. I trudge into the dining hall first thing in the morning, which has the TV no. 2 tuned to Times Now/NDTV 24x7/BBC World and that familiar genial man sitting in front of it, sipping his morning tea, and then downing whatever he can find in the fridge or in the loft. The lady in the kitchen reacts testily –‘Your cholesterol levels are going to get you!’, to which all he offers is a sheepish grin. A 13 year-old bloke emerges from the bathroom in a towel and yells – he’s getting late for school.

And I’m back there. In the afternoon at 2, I go to school to pick the brother up. Familiar faces smile and wave – the juniors, the teachers, the guards at the gate (Traffic duty, boss :D) and the usual question ‘Kemon aachish/Kemon aacho/How are you?’.

In the evening, I make a couple of phone calls, zip down to Polo Ground/Apcar Gardens/Burnpur Club/somebody’s house(whichever is convenient) and kickstart those adda sessions which seem neverending, until there’s a missed call from mum at, say, 10:30 pm at the earliest.

I come back home, shove dinner down my throat and then flounce off into the study. I switch on the PC, resume the inactive torrents and transfer the completed ones onto my laptop for viewing later on. Then I watch some TV, after which I switch on the AC in the bedroom and read whatever it is I’m reading at that point in time.

And then drift off to sleep until next morning, for which I can’t wait. That’s because I’m going to take out my two-wheeler at 5 am and go someplace with my bros. Or do something our group feels like doing, like having a gang over at our place to watch some movies or duel it out in Gran Turismo on the Playstation or indulge in the usual guy-talk (cars/sports/films/THAT girl).

These are my life’s little pleasures.

It’s been rightly said (here I go again, cockface) that people seem to get nostalgic about a lot of things they weren't so crazy about the first time around. How effing true is that!

That’s why I’m typing this out, while sipping Diet Coke, biting into the last pieces of that chocolate cake Mama made, and listening to ‘City of Blinding Lights’, which I feel is weirdly suited to the tone of the sentimental hogwash that you’re reading right now.

He didn't have to

2009-07-23T11:51:00.003+05:30

I watched Double Indemnity the day before yesterday and now these lines from the film are, inexplicably, spinning around in my head:

Phyllis Dietrichson: I wonder if I know what you mean.
Walter Neff: I wonder if you wonder.

and

Walter Neff: It's just like the first time I came here, isn't it? We were talking about automobile insurance, only you were thinking about murder. And I was thinking about that anklet.

I didn't quite like the way the film ended. I wanted Walter Neff to let Nino be falsely implicated in the murder of Mr. Dietrichson alongwith Phyllis, and wash his hands of the whole thing. But unsurprisingly, he has a change of heart when he realizes Phyllis was playing Nino along as well. Benevolence and kindness sweeps over him, and he wants Nino and Lola to be together. So he does the noble thing, and turns himself in.

The general consensus, most certainly, is that he did the right thing.

And that, exactly, is what put me off.

He didn't have to.

----

It's such a pity I hadn't been a regular listener of The Rolling Stones a lot earlier. However, I am one now, and so 'Street Fighting Man' is now on repeat on me laptop.

They are bwwiillliant. :D

Could be worse

2009-07-14T11:06:00.000+05:30

He looks up at the brilliant blue sky
and then at the parched earth 'neath his feet
the relief of rain is, yet, all but a wistful dream

Undeterred, he puts his next foot forward and soldiers on
and in his quest for the ever-elusive water,
he marches into the wasteland further deep

Not even once does the poor soul rage or curse
for, he knows full well
It could have been a lot worse.

And no, you shouldn't read this

2009-07-01T17:18:00.007+05:30

This piece is the expression of, well, something that is rather gross and pointless. I've been disgustingly cheap - and foul mouthed - with this one. Think of this one as a momentary blip on the radar, a whimsical instance of my indiscretion. I shall be back to my normal abnormal ways next post onwards. So, please don't read this. Read this instead : http://www.toplessrobot.com/2009/06/bonus_robs_transformers_2_faqs.php - It's pretty funny. And it doesn't cause anal warts, unlike my pathetic post.

"I guess it's time for you to hate me again,
Let's begin, now hand me the pen.
How should I begin it and where does it all end,
The world is just my medicine ball - you're all in."

There, I already feel a little benevolent - I've done obeisance unto my hip-hop idol, and I feel slightly ill-humored to the impending act of wasting my not-so-important time banging away angry words on this keyboard. Blogger is being used for such things (sigh).

Surprise, surprise - I have decided to react after what has been quite a long period for suppressing such evil thoughts. Nonetheless, I had reacted instantly in my mind the moment I'd seen it by sheer chance, thanks to my gmail account. It wasn't my smallest intention to see it, but these things, as you will agree with me, have a way of finding their way to you. Ever since, my bird-brain has been furiously concocting ways to slit the throat of the Great One, severing ITS head, and stuffing it up ITS alimentary canal, just to see if it fits.

Since that doesn't look like even a remote possibility, I shall presently kick the thought out of my head and focus on the more plausible thing - writing nonsense about nonsense.

I used to 'QUOTE GREAT PHILOSOPHERS AND AUTHORS, HAVE EXPENSIVE CARS AND WATCHES FEATURED IN MY BLOG, HAVE A SPECIFIC IDEOLOGY, BE VERY ACTIVE ON BLOGSPOT, and am a GOOD FOR NOTHING DUMBASS NOW', etc, etc. Etcetera, etcetera. So, in keeping with my old habit, I shall quote someone who is not a philosopher. He's not an author. Heck, he doesn't even exist in real life. "Great insults last a long time" - so said Mr. Rocky Balboa. Now I shall quote myself(YES, YOU DIPSHIT, I GOT THIS ONE FROM MY RETARDED, ALBEIT FUNCTIONING GENIUS): "Stupid and false insults last even longer. And they leave a prickly sensation in the groin region."

With all due respect to the Great One (which means there isn't any), I accept that I can be insulted big-time in any public forum you care to name, for unlike him, I have achieved nothing and I have plenty to be ashamed of. But IT, with all ITS other-worldly brilliance, has gone ahead and nailed every fault of mine that never was. And never will be.

I quote great philosphers and authors. OK, I accept. Yes I do. At least that's my acceptance of the fact that my own words aren't - and will never be - half as good. Or it's my smart-ass quotient, for only un-original people who pretend to know what they don't do this. Point taken.

Fools come in many shapes and sizes - and hairlines. I have never, and I shall never feature 'EXPENSIVE CARS AND WATCHES' in my blog. That's because my name is not Mr. HotShotLifestyleMagazine and nor is it Jeremy Clarkson (Sorry to have dragged you into this, Jeremy. I hope to be forgiven in my next lifetime). I write about motorsport almost all the time. I am a sucker for sinfully sexy, hellishly powerful and DearLordInHisVeryOwnHeaven awesome cars, but as far as I could make out after going through my blog archives, I haven't written shit about any car. As if I would insult the objects of my worship by descending to such deplorable depths. And as far as 'EXPENSIVE WATCHES' are concerned, just go ahead and see for yourself (http://raunaqsahu.blogspot.com/2008/05/what-are-we-doing-with-our-time.html). Heh. This is the post where I profiled an 'EXPENSIVE WATCH', according to the Pujaniya Vyakti (What, you don't know IT?). BLIZZERATZO, Jeez, you senseless prick, is this what your mind makes you do? I pity you, but not much.

I had a specific 'IDEOLOGY', whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, you blithering idiot. 'Ideology' is too strong a word to use for someone who's as fickle-minded as I am.Your Greatness I have no desire to join the Bajrang Dal or the VHP. You moronosoterric coefficient of stupidity, I'm about as politically inclined as a doorknob. Maybe even less. I'm a small guy with a small agenda. I just want a Ferrari 599 GTB and all of the world's fuel supplies. The rest of the environmentally conscious world citizens can scoot around in their 2.7 kph ecomobiles wearing Greenpeace jumpers for all I care and leave people like me to enjoy the joys of unbridled, unadulterated motoring. Err, yes, that might be a little too much to ask for.

I was 'VERY ACTIVE ON BLOGSPOT'. Well, I still am, you outdated telephone directory. I have been very much active over the past year. It's just that nobody reads my blog. Harrummph.

I 'AM A GOOD-FOR NOTHING DUMBASS NOW' (These aren't the exact words, but this is the general intended meaning of what had been said, sorry, written). Of course. I am one. I haven't denied that, have I? I'm useless, hopeless, as well as talentless. Somebody even tried to sort of, you know, defend my uselessness. That was unexpected, and I thank her for her support. But she needn't have bothered.

uTorrent tells me that the 'Just Lose It' video and 'The Hangover' has finished downloading. So, I shall go and watch those. Plus, I'm going out with three of my pals tonight.

But not without telling you a little about the Great One.

I, like everyone else, thought IT had balls. But since IT deleted that from the place where IT had put it up about a month-and-a-half back, I'm sure that IT has boobs and a snatch. You little muthafucka, I shall let rip another quote now, one that belongs to Sergeant Lincoln Osiris (Of course IT doesn't know him, the nutless monkey). IT can only be described as "a limp dick fuckup". Yeah. To IT I say, "Don't try to deny it baby this is the only one for you."

Yet another instance of plagiarism:

"I thought you were all dudes in here,
But y'all turned out to be bitches."

In case IT is wondering who I'm quoting here, it's the greatest philosopher and intellectual of them all, Mr. Marshall Mathers.

And no, I'm not deleting this. This post is not going anywhere.

Medley I

2009-06-26T00:43:00.005+05:30

Aaiye dukaan kholta hoon:

1. Re-vive: Coming along pretty nicely. I’ve now sort of realized what I had been missing for quite some time. The ubiquitous adda session that happens every day from sunset till 11 o’ clock has become very, very essential to my daily existence. Pausing to think, I also realize that earlier, we never ever had to call each other to a specific place just so we can have this – we had the tuitions which served the purpose. Commendably. And Mukherjee hasn’t changed. Not. One. Bit. And that keeps things jazzed up all the time, although we sometimes go a little overboard! The Polo Ground is perfect for this kind of timepass. Made my second trip to school with Babai, Souvik and Roy. And we ended up singing a plaintive - and pathetic - rendition of ‘Winds of Change’(Or...did we?). School school naa raha(sob). Siddhant ‘Choos-Lee’ Bhartia came down all the way from Calcutta to meet up with us. We appreciate it, Sidd – it’s a pity our plans to get smashed together in Bangalore never really materialized, and now you're no longer in Bangalore. Now it’s Calcutta for the next 3 years, pucca. Right then. We’ll get smashed in Calcutta one of these days :D
And I still can't decide whether I want to go for that reunion party in school. Most of us are undecided - we're unsure of the crowd... what if the grand old men of SPS Alumni take centrestage and we newbies are summarily ignored? Wisely, the organisers are dangling the bait of having ex-students from AG Church and Loreto on board for the '3 day extravaganza' :D We shall see!

2. Brit GP, Silverstone: So the Brawns finally came unstuck. Low temperatures weren’t letting their tyres warm up properly, and Button was undone (*smirks*) and Barrichello wasn’t exactly giving a great account of himself (Massa and Rosberg almost jumped him). But I’m dribbling on about a mere bagatelle. Why don’t we sidestep this issue and yell ‘SEBASTIAN!!’ - What a performance. What a thundering performance. Granted that the Red Bull car was flattered a little by the nature of the circuit and the air and track temperatures, but you simply can’t gloss over the fact that Vettel, on a heavier fuel load, first put in a stonker of a qualifying lap to take pole, and then pulled away from the two old goats on the grid at over a second a lap consistently during the first stint of the race. That was the day he did a Schumacher. Fab job!

3. Wimbledon: It’s no secret which camp I belong to. And yes, Wimbledon without its defending champion feels a bit like showing up for a college prom night and having to dance with Bablu the channawallah. OK, that was monumentally asinine of me, but you shall, at this juncture, have mercy on this mentally challenged individual and get the drift. And, much as I don’t mind Roger Effing Federer and really, really respect him, the Savile-Row bedecked tennis-racket swinging Rolex commercial really gets on my nerves. The other one with footage from his matches is OK – I mean, Rolex has being doing that sort of ads for years, but this one is, well, phhbbbt.

4. Shantaram(the book): I won't say anything except describing it in one word : 'staggering'.

More later. Run along.

Oh, Roger!

2009-06-07T21:17:00.021+05:30

Roger fans (I'm half a fan myself :-)), savour your moment under the sun :-).

What's with the excessive smileys I'm dishing out?

He is the greatest now. Now even critics who held his inability to win the French Open as a trump card have to shut their fucking traps up. Hats off, man. He and his camp have every right to be extremely chuffed about this victory. They badly needed this one. We always knew he had the game to triumph at Roland Garros, and it would only be a matter of time before he'd hold aloft the Coupe des Mousquetaires on Court Philippe Chatrier. There was only one thing he needed. Badly.

The absence of a certain Rafael Nadal Parera on the other side of the net.

Inexplicably, Nadal caved in against Robin Soderling, after decimating Lleyton Hewitt in the previous round. The only saving grace is that Soderling reached the final. Nadal summed it up himself - 'His game didn’t surprise me; I was more surprised by mine.'

And Bjorn Borg's gesture of sending Soderling a congratulatory SMS wasn't offensive at all. Its content was. Apparently, what he said to Soderling is that he was happy his record at Roland Garros remained intact. I've lost some respect for Mr. Borg. Great champions never think on those lines. Sad.

It looks like Federer's luck has also endured at this year's French Open. Nadal had been eliminated. Then, he narrowly managed to scrape through against Acasuso, Haas and Del Potro. Once he was in the final, there was absolutely no stopping him. Soderling didn't know what hit him. The bastard.

I'll dare making a prediction here. My predictions for the people I support always tend to backfire big time. However, I'm feeling extremely gambly (I'm an idiot - there's no such word) right now.

Rafael Nadal Parera will win Wimbledon 2009.

Show them, Rafa. This is your big, big test. The Bull needs to be up-and-running, and at his snorting, charging best. Shree Roger, you know full well how your Grand Slam Final record against Nadal stands.

But, for that record to get any better or worse, Nadal has to be in the finals first! Here's hoping Roland Garros 09 was just a momentary blip on the radar for Rafael Nadal Parera.

He'll be back.

----

Federer and his worshippers have more reasons to rejoice. Nadal' s pulled out of the Queen's tournament, and his entry in Wimbledon 09 is also in doubt. We all know why. But if you are a berk, here's why:

http://www.thetimes.co.za/News/Article.aspx?id=1015677

So King Federer says in an interview:

"I was surprised to see him pull out of Queen's, and now the debate that he might pull out of Wimbledon is quite frightening. I don't like to see it, because you want the best to be playing in the biggest events."

I think not ;-)

Anyway, Nadal has no intention of disappointing Roger Kumar:

"I am going to give 200 percent to be ready for the most important tournament in the world, the tournament that I always dream about,” Nadal said. But he also added that he would not play if he wasn't 100 percent ready.

Fingers crossed. Until the day they announce the draw at SW 19.

------

I wasn't aware of this - When Nadal burst on to the scene, he wasn't welcome at all. Frankly speaking, I myself hated him initially.

He had to face a lot of hostility from fans in Paris. Guy Forget, commentator on France 2 detested him(still does, obviously) and said, "We don't need construction worker arms in tennis." After the 2006 Roland Garros final against Federer, Nadal started by praising Federer in his speech. The translator mistranslated the speech, leading the public to think he was praising himself. Nadal was thus booed and whistled at throughout the speech.

Beautiful. These bastards have had to eat their own words. Repeatedly. And hopefully they'll have to do so for some more years.

PS: I'm in love. With Gwyneth Paltrow. Extremely, extremely random - I mean, there are droves of better looking women in showbiz. But then again, Nadal was defeated in the French Open. In the fourth round!

Nonsense II

2009-06-04T17:59:00.008+05:30

Look beyond the road

It's a sensation overload

Does it leave you irked?

Does it leave you bored?

Or are you sweaty n' uneasy,

And squirmin' like a toad?

Not a pretty picture
"NOOOOO", they shriek
"Look at him, that guy's a goddamn freak!"
Hacking, quartering
Sawing, strangling
It's all a part of your daily effing fixture

You look into her eyes, your own bein' bloodshot
You're just playing your part in the grisly plot
She screamed, she cried, she ended up begging
No let-up from you, your anger it wasn't ebbing

You cut open her bust
Blood spilled her guts
Yeah, now you're feelin' the rush
Nothing beats this endorphin buzz

You aren't a poet, obviously. Not even remotely. A tatty Audrey Hepburn impersonator over the vehicle's sat-nav issues instructions: "Range to next fill-up : 178 kms.... Weather conditions : Partly cloudy, with minimal chance of rainfall. 40 kms to destination..."

You assimilate the shit she said, and swerve to avoid a loon with too much hair product in his...well, hair and too much power under the bonnet. You wonder how it would feel to behead these philistines. You think of all the enjoyable things you would do to them after they had breathed their last.

The next thing you heard from the lady on the sat-nav - "Shoot yourself in the nuts, sir. And then do the same to your head."

Your car was found the next morning smashed up against an elm tree that had no business being where it was. It had taken a substantial portion of the armco barrier with it. The forensics team couldn't unearth anything exciting. The police said nobody in the car would have or could have survived the impact, but how does it matter to you? It's not as if you were exactly alive the instant you rammed into the armco.

Now that it's all over, I feel a sense of sadness.

You were driving a Dacia Sandero.

Word-ling

2009-06-02T16:31:00.000+05:30

This was the wordle result for my blog.

Hardly a surprise, eh?

Had to post this one

2009-05-27T07:59:00.004+05:30

I don't know why, but I just had to put this one up - this one's probably the greatest quote I've come across.

"The loveliest of faces are to be seen by moonlight, when one sees half with the eye and half with the fancy." - Persian Proverb

(sigh)

On Dr. Dre's latest prescription drug

2009-05-21T21:33:00.008+05:30

I haven’t done any album/movie reviews here because (a) nobody cares what a random blogger thinks and (b) why else are popular publications like Rolling Stones etc in business? They are the ones whose reviews shape the general reception of any movie or album that finds its way into theatres or stores. If you want to know whether you want to buy it or whether it’s worth a dekko, you’ll be better off reading what they think of it.

Anyway, the album is question is Eminem’s Relapse. It’s been four years since an Em record went on the shelf, and it’s most obviously an extremely important album for his biggest fans as well as people who hate him the most. The former group wants to know whether that magic and madness in his rhymes is still alive and kicking. The latter want to have another shot at belittling him. And truth be told, I myself wasn’t too optimistic when I listened to the first two singles from Relapse to have been released – 'Crack a Bottle’ and ‘We Made You’.

That skepticism changed for good once I listened to the rest of the album (‘Never has there been so much finesse and nostalgia’, as Em asserts in ‘We Made You’). For me, the first two singles were the weakest in the album – ‘Crack A Bottle’ with 50 Cent and Dr. Dre sure became the most downloaded song of all time, but didn’t exactly set my trousers on fire – it was nothing special. And as far as ‘We Made You’ is concerned, it’s a pale shadow of probably the best parody-rap song of all time, ‘The Real Slim Shady’. This one doesn’t even come close. The beats and chorus are okay, but Em’s accent in the song is annoying and the rhymes jar at places. The video was a good laugh, though.

But the rest of the album is at least as good as Encore, if not better. It’s vintage Eminem all over again. With ‘Dr. West’, there is a sinister (and homophobic, as the critics would spit) tone set for the album which is taken to an even scarier and gorier level with ‘3 AM’, whose music video was banned from being aired on TV, because it was deemed ‘unfit for TV audiences’. The TV regulatory bodies could have given themselves a break. Who cares these days when you have Youtube?

‘My Mom’ sees Em take the road he’s travelled so many times – he trains his hellfire on his mother, blaming her for what he is today (That's why I'm on, what I'm on, 'cause I'm My Mom!). ‘Insane’ is one of the best – and the probably the most cringe-inducing song in the album. He talks about his childhood experiences with his stepfather, which were anything but pleasant, and his mother’s constant indifference to the same (If you could count the skeletons in my closet/Under my bed and up under my faucet/Then you would know I've completely lost it/Is he nuts? No, he’s insane). ‘Bagpipes from Baghdad’ has been in the news to the barbs Em’s directed at Mariah Carey and her husband Nick Cannon, but it’s much better than a page three story, the Arabic Rhythm surprisingly works with the Dre beats and of course, Em’s rhymes.

‘Hello’ makes you smile at the start (Hello.../Allow me to introduce myself.../My name is, Shady/It's so nice to meet you/It's been a long time/Sorry I've been away so long/My name is, Shady/I never meant to leave you). The song is decent enough as well. In ‘Same Song and Dance’, he realizes how oft-repeated and flogged the jokes and disses about the current music scene generally are. ‘Medicine Ball’ has the references to Christopher Reeve, and has come in for a lot of flak, but towards the fag end of the track, Reeve has his own back – “Eminem, I'm coming to kill you, always hated you and I still do /You'll never fill my shoes, my Superman costume/Doesn't even fit you, they don't feel you/You're taking this shit too far, who do you think you are?”. This track is also among the better ones. ‘Stay Wide Awake’ also has an extremely dark, murder-ly and manslaughter-ly theme to it. Works. ‘Old Times’ Sake’ is a sort of nostalgic trip, and Em along with Dre really rocks this number (So one more time for old time's sake/Dre drop that beat and scratch that break). Dr. Dre’s beats and Em’s rhymes come together perfectly in this track.

‘Must be the Ganja’ revisits the drug theme, and by this time, Em has already introduced zillions of drugs, almost as if he is reading off the inventory list of a pharmaceutical corporation(Valium, Zantac, Nyquill, Vicodin, Klonopin, Hydrocodone, Ambien, Xanax, Formula 44d, Percodan, Lunesta, they’re all here). ‘Mr. Mathers’ has medics tending to a passed-out Eminem, and the next track ‘Déjà vu’ talks about him falling ‘deeper into a manic state’. ‘Beautiful’ is a surprisingly pleasing track, with a mellow chorus, and Em’s voice is used for proper singing in the chorus lines. Here he’s on about how difficult it was for him to get out of the drug problems and the extreme depression that had encumbered him in the recent past. It was extremely tough, but like he says, ‘But I need that spark to get psyched back up, in order for me to pick the mic back up’. Em’s pen still hasn’t lost any of its ability to stir the emotions. Some of my favourite lines are from this song:

"In my shoes, just to see, what it's like to be me
I'll be you, let's trade shoes, just to see what it'd be like to
Feel your pain, you feel mine, go inside each other’s minds
Just to see, what we find, look at shit through each other’s eyes
But don't let them say you ain't beautiful
They can all get fucked, just stay true to you
Don't let them say you ain't beautiful
They can all get fucked, just stay true to you"

His long-time antagonist Steve Berman makes a comeback in the nineteenth track of the album, and this time, he sums things up as far as Em’s critics are concerned: “Let me guess, another album about poor me, I'm so famous that it's ruined my rich little life, and I'm such a tortured artist. Let me make music about it and my tragic love life, am I on to something here? … Big selfish superstar (Steve, I had a drug problem) Oh poor me, I had a drug problem. Who hasn't had a drug problem in this town?” The twentieth track on the album is ‘Underground’, which draws the curtains on a worthy comeback by Slim Shady – Obviously, like all Shady albums, this one’s also a love-it or hate-it compilation. If you hate it, you obviously shouldn’t have listened to it in the first place. People who are quick to dismiss this as a rehash of his previous work, think again. This is what he does best, and in Relapse he takes off where Encore left. Nobody does this better, and in most of the songs, the target is Eminem himself. His pen’s acerbic and biting wit is still there, and the rhymes still pack more than a punch. It’s that time again, as Em says in ‘Medicine Ball’:

“I said I guess it's time for you to hate me again
Let's begin, now hand me the pen
How should I begin it, and where does it all end
My medicine ball, you're in my medicine ball friends”

The lines that usually announce Shady’s comebacks are conspicuous by their absence in Relapse, and so I absolutely had to end this with those very lines.

“Guess who’s back, back again?
Shady’s back, tell a friend.”

He’s back. And how! Good to see you back at it, Em! And here's hoping the next album is an even bigger step up.

The Mallorcan Marauder. And why he rules.

2009-05-17T12:02:00.015+05:30

My apologies to – well, I don’t know who I should apologize to, but they have been long overdue. I was supposed to write this in the first week of February, but other unnecessary work kept me occupied – stuff like the quizzes and the endsems, the like.

A muscly, fist pumping, grunting and grinding Spaniard won the 2005 French Open at a time when the world, me included, just couldn’t have enough of the Swissmaster Roger Federer. No matter how much, too much was never enough. He was magical, he was sublime, he was winning everything and then some more. He was perfect – there weren’t any real weaknesses in his game, and over and above anything else, he never looked like he had to make himself the finest, and the best in the business or had to become the best the world has ever seen – he was born to be just that. And that’s what made him so special. If ‘poetry in motion’ is a term that could ever be applied to someone who wasn’t a Russian Ballerina, Roger on a tennis court was the perfect example.

When Rafa won his first French Open title against another lefty Mariano Puerta, the majority of us didn’t so much as bat an eyelid. My immediate reaction was, ‘Well, these clay-courters come and go. This guy might be good, but he’ll probably be unable to do much on the rest of the courts. He might fade away into sporting oblivion, for all I care’. I remember telling Puspen and the rest that.

I was justified in thinking thus. I remember so many random players who came good on clay, won the French Open (or at least came close to winning it) – Gaston Gaudio, Guillermo Coria, Albert Costa, Marcelo Rios, Juan Carlos Ferrero, Martin Verkerk, Alex Corretja, Thomas Muster etc etc. And then? Look at what these players achieved after that. They have all frittered away and, to the best of my knowledge, have chucked their rackets or are languishing at the bottom of the ATP Rankings. Why should I have thought any differently in Rafa’s case?

Come to think of it, I was furious, extremely so, when Nadal ousted Federer in the semi-finals of that tournament. I went mad; thinking that here was yet another pretender who has stopped the potential G.O.A.T. from adding the Coupe des Mousquetaires (that’s what the trophy’s called. Eek.) to his mantelpiece. Stupid Spaniard. I hated him. It wasn’t that I loved Roger too much. I just hated Nadal a little more. Anyway, better late than never. Roger would most certainly win the French Open. It was just a matter of time. His mastery would be complete.

Cut to the present day. ‘It was just a matter of time’. Heh. I’d never imagined it would take this long, and with it see the supplanting of the Fedex at the top of the rankings as well as the Wimbledon trophy being bitten on Centre Court by the same ‘stupid Spaniard’. The Aussie Open was conquered too. All this while dominating on the clay courts like none before him. Sheesh. And along the way, he’s also made me a huge fan. I’m sold.

His detractors say his game is too physical and too demanding. That his body will crumble due to the extraordinary demands he puts on it every time he goes out to play. That he is not quite the purist’s chosen one, for his game breaks a lot of established conventions. They don’t find it ‘aesthetically pleasing’ and that it is never a joy to watch him play – that is the exclusive preserve of the ‘artist’ and ‘magician’ Federer.

All this might be true, but why else do you think he’s succeeded time and again against Federer? It is precisely because of this ‘unconventional’ and ‘unaesthetic’ manner of his tennis. Nadal’s genius is just as great as Federer’s, albeit of a different sort. Nobody can beat the Fedex at his own game – that is the reason he so effortlessly dominated men’s tennis for such a long period. That is why opponents like Roddick and Hewitt get routinely thumped by him. Even though they’d been around before him and have played him so many times. It’s not as if they haven’t tried their best. They just CAN’T.

And don’t you lie saying you don’t enjoy watching Nadal on a tennis court. You may hate him all you like, but calling his game unexciting is like saying LK Advani is an eloquent and new-gen, charismatic leader who is fit to be the face of India on the world stage.

What is entertaining about watching him play?

Well, what isn’t? The lightning speed with which he darts about on the court, his dogged pursuit - and return - of every single ball the opponent sends to his half of the court, his lunging and scrabbling all the time, never giving up, that whiplashing top-spin loaded forehand, the way he wields his Babolat like a cutlass, the way he exults and fist-pumps after hitting yet another impossible winner or the way he passes the sternest of tests with the belligerence of a battle-hardened, uncompromising buccaneer, what? (OK, the repeated yanking at his shorts is). If there is one word to describe him on a tennis court, it is 'indefatigable'.

His bellicose, some would even say violent playing style is something Federer hasn’t come to terms with. Yet. This is testimony to his class and his resilience – he has steadily improved since that first French Open title, adapted himself fantastically to the other surfaces (something which so many people doubted he could do). He is probably the greatest counter-puncher the game has seen – whatever anyone throws at him, he’ll invariably find a way to send it back. Another striking facet of his game is that he doesn’t allow himself much of a margin for error. As last nights’ semi-final of the Madrid Masters against Djokovic showed, he is capable of winning matches against the best in the business even when he’s not playing at his best, his footwork is not quite up there, the timing is not coming to him or the shots look a little feeble. That, in my opinion, is what his opponents, most of all Federer, have to worry about. And speaking of his rivalry with Federer – it’s the best thing to have happened to men’s tennis since the days of Sampras-Agassi and Sampras-Rafter. Nadal always finds an extra gear, a way to raise his game several notches against him, and has prevailed with an alarming regularity. The current head-to-head is 13-6, in Rafa’s favour.

His domination over Federer came full circle in the Wimbledon Championships, 2008, where he outlasted Federer in that epic final, finally ending Federer’s 5 year reign at SW19. And his nature off the court is in direct contrast to the raging bull that we see grunting and snorting on court. It’s almost as if there is a switch that alternates him between ‘On-Court Mauler’ and ‘Off Court Captain Courteous’ modes. Despite humbling Federer on surfaces other than clay regularly, he’s always maintained that Federer is the best in history, and it is an honour for him to have been such a worthy opponent. It’s not that I like him for the depressingly kind words he has for the man who finally broke down (Aus Open ‘09) after losing yet another grand slam final to his greatest rival. I say all this because you might start liking him for these reasons!

Sure, he says all that and sincerely means everything he says. But he probably doesn’t realize he himself might be well on the way to becoming the most successful of all time. He is improving with every tournament; he’s giving absolutely nothing away to his competitors and he’s staying fit. Making such a prediction as this might be taking it a little too far, but (a Hammond-esque BUT) you never know, do you? And it’s not just about the idle speculations – he may not actually achieve the calendar Grand Slam, or win the most titles, or stay No. 1 longer than Federer, but that is not the point. The fact that he is forcing us to confront that possibility is.

I’m willing to lay any wager that if he can keep playing at the level he is now for another 4-5 years, he might become the one who replaces every other name in the record books.

If and when he does that, you can count on me rooting for him.

And so it happened

2009-05-13T10:46:00.003+05:30

The club has hit me in the gut, the truck has mowed me down and my carcass is being ripped apart, shred by shred, by the overanxious vultures, even as I use Blogger's 'Psychic Live Writer' to upload this post which I'm only thinking about.

With time and with experience, people expect a step up - even if they haven't done much to deserve it. And truth be told, I was expecting that too. But, as someone has famously and appropriately said, 'Shit Happens'. And so it has, big time. I am too loathe and too...indifferent(?) to do something about this. So, without giving it much thought, I have come back to watching Jack Bauer take out yet another rogue-organisation-with-WMDs-threatening-the-national-security-of-the-US and laughing my head off watching Jezza, Captain Slow and The Hamster falling over and cocking about amidst the usual orgy of speed and heavy metal (the real things - not six-strings with cocaine addicts holding them iffily and eliciting strange noises from them).

My death won't be a hero's one. That's hardly a surprise. Not even the vultures like the taste of me. One of them is undergoing convulsions- looks like it's going to keel over rather soon - and the others, taking the cue, are flying away. In search of better and more delectable meat.

In search of... you.

The edge of tolerance

2009-05-10T21:45:00.003+05:30

The obvious place to start would be !@#$?@#$ !

I mean, what can you say about things that look like they have completely spiraled out of control for a team that is supposed to be representative of the greatest, most enigmatic and undoubtedly the most evocative name in automotive history?

Imagine how fucking frustrating it must be for their army of fans around the world. The Tifosi. Me. Us. Probably you. And this is before we get to the predicament of their two drivers - Mr. rapid-yet-unlucky Massa and Mr. chocobar-ze-vodka Raikkonen. How bad can things get before they start to get better?

They started out with a car that wasn’t exactly at the forefront of innovation and development. We can understand that. Seeing McLaren in the same situation, it is obvious that these 2 powerhouses who were rabidly dueling for the 2008 world championship had to let some slack as far as the development of their ‘09 machines was concerned. Their drivers, as a direct consequence have had to endure a hellish time on track trying to battle erstwhile midfield no-hopers who have ultimately ended up in front of them.

Moreover, it is really, I mean, really tough to make up lost ground in the course of a single season. Even with the mega resource strength of Ferrari (and McLaren and Renault and BMW), it will be a Herculean task for them to outperform Brawn and Red Bull, because every team on the grid is in a constant state of evolution - everybody is taking steps forward all the time. So, for every one step that the teams in front take, Ferrari and the others will have to take two steps, even three, because what they are doing has to be cumulatively greater than the developmental steps taken by the teams in front if they have to gain on them. That's difficult. Very difficult.

The sad part is, they somehow managed to make that big step forward - as was evident on the eve of the Spanish Grand Prix. They had the pace to at least stay with the front runners, if not slay them. That was a start! And then Ferrari's mechanical gremlins and slapdash errors that the crew have repeatedly been making took over. It's not just bad luck any more. It is sheer madness, and dare I say, indifference. They probably have made more tactical mistakes in the first quarter of this season than they have made in all of the last decade - the overconfident and irrational decision to keep their driver back in the pits in order to 'preserve the car and its tyres for the future runs in Q2 and Q3’ (for which they eventually failed to make the cut). Twice! It happened to Massa earlier and it happened to Kimi today. And poor Felipe didn't have enough gas to even get him to the Parc Ferme! In all probablility, the Fezza's crew has become the laughing stock of the F1 paddock. And I haven't even started talking about the mechanical failures that have now become as much a part of Ferrari as their infallible reliability once used to be.

The KERS. Again one question. Why? The teams who invested heavily in this ‘curse’ are the worst off - cases in point Ferrari, McLaren, Renault and BMW. Does the handicap of the extra weight of the system outweigh its benefits of a 90HP boost for a fixed duration of the lap? Oh yes it does. BMW and Renault decided to junk it for this particular race, because quite frankly, with the staggering performance of the KERS-free teams in the front of the pack, these four factory-backed biggies were starting to look a bit like dorks. In modern F1, I guess, the best way to find a gain in performance is to give a lot of importance to aero-development. Credit here has to go to Adrian Newey of Red Bull Racing – they still don’t have that naff double-decked diffuser, and yet they are snapping at Brawn’s heels. Plus, theirs is the only car than looks exquisite, if you exclude the snowplough in front and the scaffolding at the back. Poor Sebastian Vettel – he’d probably have challenged for the victory had Massa not held him up for almost the entire duration of the race. Thoo.

So, what’s it going to be? Ferrari seem to have found some pace, but without reliability and shabby crew-work, it doesn’t look like it’s going to improve a great deal this season.

Clearly, the Schumacher-Todt-Brawn-Byrne combine is being missed. Badly so.

Strange Meeting

2009-05-09T11:24:00.000+05:30

After a very long and arduous journey, I can finally sing, 'Main yahaan hoon, yahaan hoon yahaan hoon, yahaan'. With the kind of finality that comes only when one is a Kolkata Knight Riders' well-wisher. You know the team HAS to lose. There are no two ways about it. What’s more, the weather here was just perfect. The skies were cloudy, there were brisk winds all round and there was a light drizzle in the air. Pleasant-ness. Felt good. The car in the parking lot looked like it was my getaway vehicle from some crime scene. I realized I was thinking of nothing else at that instant. HOME. After a period of over three months.

There are a lot of reasons for my calling this post ‘Strange Meeting’, after the poem of the same name by Wilfred Owen(one of the best ever, according to me). Strangely, happy was the last word I was thinking of. I’d put most of that to the monumentally boring, slow, eventless and annoying journey that I had to face first up. A raucous trio of Biharis who just couldn't stop gushing about their laptops, their mobile phones, their choice of music and about how retarded their maternal uncle was, for he was travelling with his family, and had made the catastrophic error of choosing to travel in the general compartment - and was stingy about paying the TTE and getting a seat in the A/C compartment. Bleh. In the next compartment was a family which didn’t seem to have the faintest clue that making an unearthly racket all the time can be annoying to fellow passengers. God, that kid, Pranshu was his name - may all the bloodthirsty hordes from hell descend on him and silence him for good. Now I’m positive I hate children – especially those of the peskier variety. Like a great man said, “Parents, beat the muthafuckas!”

How do I feel? Hanging out with my homies – that bit sure feels awesome. But when I am at home or I am alone, I’m not so sure. I feel _____. My room still has those scary looking books – IIT Physics, JPNP; Fundamentals of Chemistry, Mathematics for IIT JEE – Tata McGraw Hill, Organic Chemistry - Morrison and Boyd… and so it goes on.

All I can do now is point and laugh at all that shit! I’ll let it out here too – Hahahhaha.

There, I already feel better. But the rest of it is so same, yet so different. Spending the evenings out of home, coming back to food – lots of it (if you have ever met my mother, you sure know what I am saying – why else do you think I have the impressive physique that men and women lust after?) and holding up a book in front of my face whilst lying on the couch with the A/C set to 16 degrees C. Feels OK, yet feels _____.

Starting up my ride by thumbing the red switch, it again feels _____. The instant I got my arse onto the rather stiff seat, I realised that my fingers on the handlebars also have that bizarre sensation. Now, I had the temerity of calling my ride a ‘ride’ – it is anything but. I hope it was the Yamaha FZ-15, I dream it was the Ducati 1098, but I know it is only a Bajaj Kristal (cue for cracking all the gay and effeminate jokes). It’s got DTSi. Even the Duke doesn’t have that!

Anyway, the brakes are wound up a lot tighter and the thing is pulling cleanly and effortlessly – a sure sign that it had gone for a service in the recent past. I made some errors while riding in front of the Rabindra Bhavan. Braked too early a couple of times and almost caused a collision with a Tata pick-up that thought the view of the Kristal’s arse was most certainly an automotive aphrodisiac. Yuck. _____.

The ideal word in those blank spaces has to be ‘weird’. Ah, that does it.

Beast of Burden

2009-04-29T20:25:00.005+05:30

1.IF SOMEONE SAYS 'ARE YOU OKAY?' YOU SAY :-
I'd Die for You (Bon Jovi - Slippery When Wet)

2.HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
Stiff Upper Lip (AC/DC - Stiff Upper Lip)

3.WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Dear Prudence (The Beatles - The White Album)

4.HOW DO YOU FEEL ?
Up the Downstair (Porcupine Tree - Coma Divine)

5.WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
The Real Me (The Who - Quadrophenia)

6.WHAT'S YOUR MOTTO?
Dream On (Aerosmith - Aerosmith)

8.WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Every Little Thing (The Beatles - Beatles for Sale)

9.WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Sometimes I Feel like Screaming (Deep Purple - Purpendicular)

10.WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Disappear (Dream Theater - Six Degrees of Inner Turbulence)

11.WHAT IS 2+2 ?
Zero the Hero (Black Sabbath - Born Again)

12.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Badlands (Bruce Springsteen - Born in the USA)

13.WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
I am the Highway (Audioslave - Audioslave)

14.WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WHEN YOU GROW UP?
The Kiss - Skit (Eminem - The Eminem Show)

15.WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
The Song Remains the Same (Led Zeppelin - Houses of the Holy)

16.WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Shedding Skin (Pantera - Far Beyond Driven)

17.WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
You're Crazy (Guns N' Roses - Appetite for Destruction)

18.WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
One Wild Night (Bon Jovi - Crush)

19.WHAT WILL YOU PUBLISH THIS AS?
Beast of Burden (Rolling Stones - The Best of the Rolling Stones)

You know that this is something that's doing the rounds on the 'Notes' application of people's Facebook profiles these days. You also know that only retarded, jobless and hopeless people do this, for their life is so, so very meaningless.

But I know that this is the next thing you'll be doing.

So, this is what they ask you to do:

1. Put your iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT MAY SOUND.
4. Tag your friends
5. Everyone tagged has to do the same thing.
6. Enjoy

The last three steps are irrelevant if, like me, you do not have the testicular fortitude(or whatever it is that makes you courageous) to post this as a note on Facebook.

I also know whoever is reading this is going, "Et tu, Raunaq!!"

Yes. This is what happens when you run a huge, HUGE risk of cocking up the exam that's on the next day. Throw in an alarming lack of creativity as well.

So be it.

PS: Now you also know why this post's titled 'Beast of Burden'.

Earworm-ation

2009-04-16T18:43:00.008+05:30

Something’s happened to me, and for some incomprehensible reason. I’ve been listening to one particular song repeatedly for the last 3 days now. And going by the way I just can’t have enough of it, I think I’m going to listen to it for another 3 days at least.

This is something I didn’t know about – there is actually a term for describing this condition. It hasn't been scientifically authenticated yet, but it looks like its usage is fairly common.

As Wikipedia says:

'Earworm, a calque of the German Ohrwurm, is a term for a portion of a song or other musical material that repeats compulsively within one's mind, known colloquially as "music being stuck in one's head". Use of the English translation was popularized by James Kellaris and Daniel Levitin. Kellaris' studies demonstrated that different people have varying susceptibilities to earworms, but that almost everybody has been afflicted with one at some time or another. This usually happens when a person sings the song or hums the tune once and then repeats it in his or her mind." However, this information is not supported by any scientifically published information and was presented only as a guess of an unknown author.'

‘Rabbit Run’ is the song in question. I’m muttering that song under my breath all the time – out of bed(rather late) in the morning, while brushing my teeth, walking into class, loafing around on campus, heck, even while doing the unmentionables.

I have developed this weird tendency of picking up my deodorant can, holding it to my mouth and repeatedly singing the lines from random parts of the song. Especially:

"Some days I just wanna up and call it quits
I feel like I'm surrounded by a wall of bricks
Every time I go to get up I just fall in pits
My life's like one great big ball of shit
If I could just, put it all into all I spit
Instead of always tryin to swallow it..

This is it, last straw, that's all, that's it
I ain't dealin with another fuckin politic
I'm like a skillet bubblin until it filters up
I'm about to kill it, I can feel it buildin up
Blow this buildin up, I've been sealed enough
My cup, runneth over, I done filled it up

The pen explodes and busts, ink spills my guts
You think, all I do is stand here and feel my nuts?
Well I'ma show you what, you gon' feel my rush
You don't feel it, then it must be too real to touch

Peal the dutch, I'm about to tear shit up
Goosebumps yea, I'ma make your hair sit up
Yea sit up, I'ma tell you who I be
I'ma make you hate me, cause you ain't me
You wait, it ain't too late to finally see
what you closed-minded f***s were too blind to see
Whoever finds me is gonna get a finder's fee
out this world, ain't no one out their mind as me
You need piece of mind? Here's a piece of mine
All I need's a line

I'm fizzlin now, thought I figured it out
Ball's in my court, but I'm scared to dribble it out
I'm afraid, but why am I afraid?
Why am I a slave to this trade?
Cyanide I spit to the grave
Real enough to rile you up
Want me to flip it I can rip it any style you want
I'm a switch hitter bitch, Jimmy Smith ain't a quitter
I'ma sit until I get enough in me to finally hit a
f****n boilin point, put some oil in your joints
Flip the coin bitch, come get destroyed

I'll be back baby, I just gotta beat this clock
F*** this clock, I'ma make 'em eat this watch
Don't believe me watch, I'ma win this race
And I'ma come back and rub my shit in your face, bitch
I found my nitch, you gon' hear my voice
'Til you sick of it, you ain't gonna have a choice
If I gotta scream 'til I have half a lung
If I had half a chance I'd grab it - Rabbit, run."

It…just charges me up. Eminem’s energy is just too frickin’ contagious. It just courses through as an invisible, overpowering force. I spit those lines out all the time. I reply to my own self when in doubt, “I don’t know it’s just the way I am”.

Even the background music for this track is haunting me in the moments when I have a little peace and quiet around me. What’s going on? It’s just…inexplicable!

By the way, I just noticed that towards the end of the Wiki article on earworms, there's this line that goes:

“Medications that are used to treat Obsessive-compulsive disorder or anxiety can alleviate the symptoms of earworms.”

Uh oh.

Disappointment

2009-04-14T23:18:00.005+05:30

I sometimes wonder whether I should call this blog a ‘Motoring Blog’ or a ‘Motorsport Blog’ – after all, that’s the only topic I keep on writing about, with a few posts of random nothingness here and there.

But there is a small issue:

My employers are not called ‘F1 Racing Magazine’, ‘Autosport’ or, even ‘Auto India’. Which means nobody’s going to give a monkey about my views on ‘Should Renault devote more finances to developing wheel nuts that convert atmospheric CO2 into oxygen?’

But I am slightly miffed by what happened yesterday in the MotoGP Qatar Grand Prix. I have always worshipped Valentino ‘The Doctor’ Rossi, but he did something completely unexpected last night.

Yes, he didn’t win – now that he’s made winning such a habit, one might be forgiven for expecting him to win every other race. Yamaha weren’t in as good shape as the Bolognese powerhouse – Ducati and Stoner were raping (there is no other word for it) everyone else on the track with the Desmosedici GP7. The gap between Stoner and the second placed Rossi never fell below 0.45 of a second a lap. Now that, in motor racing terms is the equivalent of a year. Stoner sure looked unbeatable.

As the lights went out, Rossi had a poor start, fell back to fourth, even as Stoner turned up the heat at the head of the pack. But as Rossi has so often done, he chipped away at the advantage that Lorenzo and Capirossi had and passed them both. He managed to close the gap between him and Stoner to a little under 2 seconds, and then faded away and eventually settled for second place. All of this is fine. He probably had worn out his tyres while trying to play catch up. He was probably having too many vibrations from the front wheel which made it next to impossible to stay on the limit all the time. His Yamaha’s set-up was probably not quite up to the task. The Yamaha was probably not quick enough. PROBABLY.

But this was what the Doctor had to say after the race:

"But after that I was making up the gap, and maybe I could have caught him, but after yesterday's rain the asphalt became a bit more aggressive, and I had some small problems with the front tyre, so at one point I had to decide whether I should crash or give up."
"So I thought a bit, and since we knew we were a bit on the limit, I gave up. Well done to Stoner, he was quick and he deserved the win. In any case we're second, we've demonstrated that we can go quick, so see you at Motegi."

So he admitted it. Remove the word probably from all those sentences. He wasn’t quick enough. He didn’t go balls-out, for he realized there was no point in it. Stoner was unbeatable last night in Losail. That’s the heart-breaking part. I would like to believe he could have done it. He would have found a way. Like that magical debut race for Yamaha in 2005 in Welkom, South Africa. That was a Rossi masterclass. That was when the rider had proved that he was bigger than the machine itself. He had taken the M1 to the dizzying limits and beyond, walking a tightrope for the entire duration of the race.

See you at Motegi, then.

What is it about June?

2009-04-06T19:16:00.007+05:30

Juan Manuel Fangio was born on the 24th of June, 1911. He was nicknamed ‘El Maestro’ (‘The Master’). He won five Formula One World Driver's Championships - a record which stood for 46 years eventually beaten by Michael Schumacher - with four different teams (Alfa Romeo, Ferrari, Mercedes-Benz and Maserati), a feat that has not been repeated since. He is considered by many to be the greatest driver of all time.

Sir John Young ‘Jackie’ Stewart was born on the 11th of June 1939. He is better known as Jackie, and nicknamed ‘The Flying Scot’. He won the F1 World Championship thrice.

Kevin Schwantz, former Motorcycle Grand Prix World Champion, was born on the 19th of June, in Houston, Texas. He was renowned for his aggressive, all-or-nothing riding style.

Giacomo Agostini was born on the 16th of June, 1942 in Brescia, Lombardy. He’s an Italian multi-time Motorcycle Grand Prix World Champion. Nicknamed ‘Ago’, he is the all-time leader in victories in motorcycle Grand Prix history.

Michael ‘Mick’ Sydney Doohan was born on the 4th of June 1965 in Brisbane, Australia. He’s a former Grand Prix motorcycle road racing World Champion, who won five consecutive 500 cc World Championships, second only to Giacomo Agostini. He’s considered to be one of the greatest exponents of motorcycling racing of all time.

‘Turbo’ Tommi Antero Mäkinen was born in Puuppola, Finland near Jyväskylä on the 26th of June 1964. Mäkinen is one of the most successful WRC drivers of all time, having been a 4-time World Rally Champion.

Raunaq ‘Hopeless’ Sahu was born on the 22nd of June in Raniganj, West Bengal to Oriya parents. He writes this shady blog and likes to believe that he is a hard-core motor-racing fan. He hasn’t achieved much in real life, though. He has driven a Toyota Landcruiser and was quite intimidated by it. Sadly, it was an automatic, so he couldn’t pretend to be a proper driver (“Only yummy mummies drive automatics” - Jeremy Clarkson). He had once driven a Maruti 800 3 years back when he’d driven into a hedge as he was standing on the clutch and wondering why the darn car wasn’t stopping.

At least he was born in June.

Busy doing nothing. Hence the post.

2009-03-22T19:52:00.012+05:30

-I am guffawing everytime I recall this bit from Jezza's column featured in the Times today:

"..Nor could I understand how someone from Tooting could possibly support, say, Manchester United, a team sponsored by those hateful bastards at AIG and made up of players from Portugal, France, Holland and, in the case of Wayne Rooney, Walt Disney. Where’s the connection? What’s the point?"

The Wayne Rooney bit is fan-effing-tastic!

- I finished reading the Hamster's autobiography - 'On the Edge : My Story'. Great entertainment, much like the man himself!

- Saw the trailer of 'The Fast and The Furious : 4' whilst channel-surfing. It's got a rather unimaginative tagline which goes : 'New Model. Original Parts'. If somebody tried to sell a car or a bike with such a tagline, the message sent out would be screamingly obvious : "When we first made it, it was hopeless. In fact, it was so bad that no one noticed. Giving it a new set of snazzy decals and new marketing bullshit in the product brochure, we expect to sell more units than we sold last year. Err...we sold none last year. We have an overflowing inventory." I sincerely hope I can laugh as much at this movie as I did when I saw 'The Fast and the Furious : Tokyo Drift'. Muahahahaha.

- I just discovered that my 'Scientists and Innovators' course presentation is on the 1st of April! We'll be doing a presentation on SN Bose. Or was it JC Bose? Damn.

- I watched a rerun of the BNP Paribas Open semifinals on Star Sports. The one involving Federer and Murray was... weird. Federer played brilliantly in the 2nd set and in the 1st two games of the 3rd. Then, inexplicably, he caved in, making a string of unforced errors. That was extremely disturbing. How on earth did his game fold up after he had clearly settled into a good rhythm? I don't know. Neither does anybody else, including Federer.
The other semifinal ensured that normal service was resumed. Nadal beat Roddick 6-4, 7-6. The strong winds made things a little dicey, but every time Rafa let that forehand rip he made A-Rod look slow-witted and ponderous. Duh.

- Saw the 'Every Second Counts' commercial aired by Star Sports as a part of the 2009 Formula One season's advertising campaign. Liked it. Looking forward to what promises to be a cracker of a season! Rock it, boys!

- As you must have realized by now, Star Sports has been my companion for the day.

- I need a new pair of aviators. Now. I need 3 grand to pay for them. I don't have 3 grand. So I shall shut up.

- I am also wondering why I never talk to my parents for more than 90 seconds. This is in stark contrast to my other hostel-mates. I just mutter a few 'hmm's and 'yeah's, followed by long silences, until my mother says,"You don't have anything to tell me. Bye.". And hangs up.

- Checked out the wedding pics of my maternal cousin, who got married on the 14th of February. I wasn't there. Darn.

- I learned that there exists a racing series called 'The Middle East Rally Championship'! Surreal, I say!

- I added the tags for this post, clicked on 'Publish Post' and sat back to watch 'Engine Block'. On Star Sports :D

Happy birthday, sie biest !

2009-03-21T15:19:00.035+05:30

The Porsche 917 at the Daytona Historic Event

Over the years, there have been many manically fast and technically magnificent race cars which have now become part of automotive lore. Enthusiasts discussing them do so in hushed, reverential tones and manufacturers lovingly preserve surviving examples in their heritage museums, or even the hallowed precincts of the factories in which they were conceived and built.

Presently, I’ll go in a completely different direction. As a 4-year old, I remember my favourite toy being a dark blue pull-back toy car – it had stickers screaming '69' on its flanks and several others saying ‘Gulf’, ‘Koni’ and ‘Tag Heuer’ – I didn’t know what any of that meant. It was my most prized possession and I had a great time playing with it all over the house.

It was a model of the Porsche 917, THE Porsche 917, the fabled Porsche 917, the car that annihilated all its opposition and occasionally its own self in a fiery ball of aluminum, titanium and magnesium. Apart from blitzing the Le Mans, the Can Am, the Targa Florio, and several other racing classes, it was also immortalized on celluloid in the Steve McQueen starrer, Le Mans(1971). Endorsement from the King of Cool, no less! 2009 marks the 40th anniversary of the 917, and Porsche is commemorating this occasion at the Goodwood Festival of Speed in July. The world is celebrating and so am I!

It was born under interesting circumstances, to say the least. The FIA, in a way, had a hand in this. In those days, Le Mans witnessed insane speeds and cars like the Ford GT 40 MkIV and the Ferrari Ps (the 250Ps, the 330Ps, the 412 Ps, etc) with their massive engines and immense power outputs were the undisputed kings. The FIA then tweaked the rules a little to allow cars with smaller engine capacities to be a part of the World Sports Car Championship and to entice more manufacturers to line up on the starting grid. There was a catch, however – the manufacturer couldn’t just set up a race team, devote the finances and manpower and build a precious few cars to compete in the championships. The cars had to be homologated as well. That is, they had to be built and sold as road-legal machines to people like you and me. A manufacturer could take its cars to race as long as it had made at least 25 units for road use.

Ferdinand Piech(right) and Gerhard Mitter(left) at the first presentation of the 917

So, Porsche got started on its project. A super-lightweight 42 kg aluminium spaceframe, several titanium and magnesium alloy components, a glass fibre body-shell and a 4.5 litre flat-12 naturally aspirated engine putting out a substantial 520 horsepower were thrown into the mix, and the 917 was born. It was not without its share of pitfalls, though – the spaceframe was barely able to contain the immense power that the engine belted out. It was riddled with mechanical and aerodynamic faults and if it were not for the iron-will of Ferdinand Piech (currently President, Volkswagen AG), it would have most certainly died a silent death. It was not good at changing direction, and was extremely unstable at high speeds. Drivers did not want to drive it because it was a total bitch to drive. This called for a revision of its specifications and the aero components. The result was the 917K(Kurzheck) which got a choppy, wedge shaped tail, which was the idea of engineer John Horsmann. Later, an LH(Langheck) version was developed for the high-speed circuits, with enhanced aerodynamic efficiency and greater stability. These days, engineers with their laptops, wind tunnels and CAD simulations sort out these problems in the conception stage itself, before a single body panel has been created. Things were slightly different back then. They had to tack on new components and test it on the racetrack. Still no luck? Go back to the shed and try again!

And when Porsche got it right, boy oh boy, did it deliver! It won Porsche it’s first Le Mans Championship in 1970, and then again in 1971. Its speed, as Jezza would say, was biblical. 0-60 came up in 2.5 seconds and it maxed out at over 250 mph. Shudder. However, it is remembered not just because it made winning a habit – many cars have done that. It was the manner in which it did it – by blowing all the opposition to the weeds, by making them look limp wristed and clumsy. It lapped Le Mans at a record average speed of 222.09 kph, a feat which no other car has been able to overhaul ever since a chicane was added to the Mulsanne straight. And talking of the Mulsanne straight, that was where it did 386.24 kph, driven by Vic Elford in 1970, that too at night in wet track conditions. After conquering Le Mans, Porsche set its sights across the Atlantic and entered it in the Can Am Series in 1973, where it became the 917/10. The 917/10 was slightly different from its elder sister – Porsche uprated the power to a nuclear 1000 bhp (as if 520 was too weeny). Needless to say, its rivals could only watch it walk, no, fly away with the title . Porsche came back the next year with another 500 horses in its powerhouse, and won again, before the FIA had to change the rules again to try and control the rampaging monster that was the 917. Eek. Bow down.

So, was the 917 the greatest, most balls-out racer ever?

You bet!

******

Today, seven of the most important 917 models – among them the Le Mans-winning cars from 1970 and 1971 and the 917/30 CanAm Spyder – are currently on exhibit in the new Porsche Museum in Stuttgart-Zuffenhausen. Most of the other 917s are in the hands of proud collectors around the world, and have been seen – and heard – at the most prestigious vintage events, including Goodwood, Amelia Island, Monterey Historics, and Porsche’s three Rennsport Reunions in the U.S. in 2001, 2004 and 2007. Porsche Motorsport North America, the racing arm of Porsche in North America, services, restores, rebuilds and maintains many of these 917s for collectors at its shop in Santa Ana, California.(Source - http://993c4s.com/)

Nonsense

2009-03-06T21:02:00.005+05:30

As I lie sprawled here
On this burning hard shoulder
The midday sun in my eyes
I feel a hundred years older

My ride's wrecked, it sure seems like 'tis all over
I'm only hoping for a miracle, some lucky clover

A pick-up looms in the distance, from the heat haze
Thought it changed colours a few times,
before it went stable on red

She pulled up alongside my battered machine
And beckoned me in
I staggered into the passenger seat
Wondering where to begin

Her looks could burn asbestos, I thought
And never could I have imagined
The ride was going to be disaster-fraught

The next thing I know, I'm gulping down my own blood
My mouth felt like it was full of gravel
Which actually were the powdered remains of what used to be my teeth
I've lost my left hand, and am unable to make my legs do my bidding
The pick-up is wrecked, the gearlever's gone through my gut
And I don't know what became of her

I am waiting for the end
Waiting for my pain to go away
Not too different from my state a little while back
Except that I want to be put out of my misery

Thoo. Never again. Sorry.

Someday, I'll be Sunday morning

2009-03-01T17:24:00.006+05:30

Hell, this is good. The Sunday Afternoon Syndrome has taken over me. There’s nothing to do, it’s 5:20 PM, I’m sitting in front of the laptop, listening to ‘Always’, reading Graphiti online, wondering how to raise Rs. 1080 for 'James May's 20th Century', sipping some soup I made a little while back and trying to suck in the vegetable pieces which seem to be in love with the sides of the coffee mug (??!!) for good. All this after doing something for the first time – washing clothes.

Time’s ticking over slowly, like an engine idling. No hurries, no worries. Not for now, at least.

Looking around my room always gives me that sinking feeling. It’s in complete disarray – the bed is not done, the cupboard is a picture of utter chaos; clothes, books, and magazines are strewn all over the place, etc, etc. Adding insult to injury are the $%#^@#*&@& pigeons outside my window, who’ve shat all over the clothes-hanging bar. Eeek.

Haven’t been to 41, 5th Cross Street this weekend as well. It’s been a long time now. Strangely, the urge is missing nowadays, unlike the first couple of months, when I’d run off everyday. Haven’t roamed around the city on foot in ages. It was something I so often used to do during the first semester. Can’t forget the evening I walked from IIT all the way to Palavakkam – took me 2 hours, two cans of coke, music on the iPod and a pair of extremely tired feet. By the way, I must say these oat-sesame crackers are quite good.

One line from 'Someday I'll be Saturday night' weirdly stands out:
‘I’m sleeping in my car, my dreams move on.’

What’s happened? What has changed? Has something gone wrong?

I’m as clueless as you are. I think I’ll just have a cup of coffee. And move on.

Of a school, a racing series and an implausible dream...

2009-02-25T23:25:00.010+05:30

Indulging in rumour-mongering is one of the guilty pleasures we all enjoy – those who snub this ‘disgusting’ and ‘cheap’ habit feel smug and those who do partake in it, well, their pleasure knows no bounds.

Anyway, one more thing rumours do is that they give us a more often than not interesting topic to discuss with our friends – they are responsible for kick-starting many lazy afternoon conversations over the phone, or even a boisterous, pointless natter over beer-mugs among friends in a pub. And that’s generally because people do tend to have an opinion. The rumours, then, give us something to chew upon, something to kill time with, something to ensure our life stays as meaningful or meaningless as we want it to be.

And one such rumour is responsible for this post. And my gut says it will probably turn out into speculation on an extremely fanciful scheme. More on that later.

Babai called me sometime back and told me St. Patrick’s are probably thinking of making the +2 section co-ed. My instantaneous reaction was, “WHAT. THE. FUCK?” Seems people at the SPOBA have lost their marbles. Or is it the SPAI (I still can’t forget how they ruined our last official day in Class X. Almost.). Retards that they are, they will definitely extend this ‘cooperative effort’ to the other junior classes. And then?

Nothing. When I thought about it later, I realized that the school would be more or less OK. With the girls coming in, probably the number of 90-pluses will increase (albeit the equal increase in the number of dumb, dumber, dumberer females-which will restore the average). And probably being seen together in random places downtown in school uniforms will be less scandalous for those who want to move their love-life into a higher gear. But my question remains. WHY? Ever heard of the saying, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”? Of course you have. How daft of me. They should definitely encourage inter-school interaction through any number of events – like those dance parties they used to have years back, but sleeping with the enemy (sorry about that) is a strict no-no. Please. See some sense. STOP THIS.

One more thing struck me. It shouldn’t come as a surprise after all, but still. If the school thinks it wants to be innovative, to be a trend setter, it should invest in my grand scheme. With all the right moves, I’m sure we will get all the visibility, the popularity and the reputation we could ever want. Or need.

They should start the SPS GP Challenge, which will be a racing series for the under-18 class. This could be held during the winter break. Standard go-karts could be made the norm, with 4-5 HP 2-stroke engines, a barebones chassis with (a trifle expensive, I agree) slicks bolted on to them. Or we can use engines from the stupid lawnmowers which have rattled our brains out while we were in 9th and 10th. The steering racks could be welded together in some local foundry. Stop smirking. I know it’s not particularly high-tech, but it’s not at all about the technology – it’s about nice, old-school racing, wheel banging and trying to ram each other off the racing line on the corner entry and exit segments. And I think I am safe in the assumption that the most balls-out racer will take home the Gulmohar leaf trophy.

Of course, all this is very well, but what about the racetrack? Don’t stick your stinky sock into my pine-fresh dream studio yet. We have one right inside the campus!

If you don’t believe me, continue reading. If you do, do the same as well.

The Start/Finish line will be in front of the large manual bell(which we fooled around with occasionally); the machines then accelerate up to the large oak tree(with the 2-tonne pitch roller under it); next comes a medium right past the canteen and the disused building behind it. Just as the curve straightens, there’s the Triangular Section (Traffic duty….thoo) with a hard 90 degree right – hard on the brakes here, and this is one of the overtaking zones, a section which will be extremely critical to the lap times. My favourite part comes next, a delightful high-speed section at full throttle, past the senior school, towards the junior school, as the cars, sorry, karts fly past the middle school building and the parking lot. This brings us to another stand-on-the-brakes hard right. And then, it’s smooth sailing all the way – it’s all about finding the best possible line and straight-lining the final section, past the school auditorium and back to the main straight and across the line.

Think about it. The guys in town will kill to be a part of the race, whose entrants will have been rigorously screened by time-trials, and selected from (hopefully) hundreds of other aspirants. The girls will also probably fancy a guy in a racing suit and a helmet a wee bit more that your average Dick. The mothers would have something better to bitch about to each other than their children’s grades and their love interests. I have no doubt that the standard of racing here will be superior to the standard of the football they play in the Salt Lake Stadium and also to the performances of the Kolkata Knight Riders (sorry Shahrukh). If all goes well, the money will flow in as well. TV coverage would probably work it’s way up from the Asansol Cable Network to no less that Star Sports (I’ll take TEN Sports as well, thank you very much). It will, god-willing, be a top draw event in Eastern India. It might catch the eye of individuals and corporates who would like to support good talent instead of being part of stupid poverty-alleviation schemes which usually benefit no one. If it were to become the pre-eminent racing championship in India, then it would become the breeding ground for the future generation GP2 and…wait for it…Formula One race drivers … the possibilities seem endless to me(though you won’t be wrong in thinking that I’m too carried away at this point)…

Who knows, the next Formula One World Champion might probably be in Asansol right now, busy with Mr. S. Chattterjee’s math homework.

Tera Emosanal Attyachaar...

2009-02-01T20:05:00.015+05:30

“Kal mera bebaaak tha,
Aaj magar kamzor hai..
Khud se aankhein hi na mil paayein.

Aankhon ka hai dhokha,
Aisa tera pyaar
Tera Emosanal Attyachaar”

What the hell are these lines doing here?

I’ll tell you. During one commercial break in the middle of the Roger-Rafa final at the Aussie Open today, I randomly switched to MTV where the DevD trailer was being aired – and I couldn’t help but connect these lyrics to Federer’s surprising breakdown in the post-match presentation ceremony – OK not the ‘Aankhon ka hai dhokha, aisa tera pyaar’ part, but the rest of it!

It was understandable – he really, really wanted to equal Sampras’ record and doing that in the Rod Laver arena in front of Rod Laver himself and other legends like Ken Rosewall, John Newcombe, Tony Roche and Andreas Gimeno would have been perfect. Everything leading up to the match looked just right – he had been in supreme form through the quarters and semis, he had a good two and a half days off after his easy-peasy semi-final and he was desperate to add to his impressive trophy cabinet his fourth Norman Brookes Cup . He had every right to think that he would be able to do it. So did Sampras, Laver, Borg, Pat Cash, John McEnroe and some other former greats – they had all put their money on the Fedex.

Except that it wasn’t to be. El Matador had other ideas. Rafa ne de hi diya ‘lafa’! The guy never ceases to amaze me. It baffles me how he managed to have so much in reserve after the epic Verdasco Semi-Final. Playing against Nadal is, in many ways, similar to playing against a wall!

But I’ll talk exclusively about Nadal in my next post. In the presentation ceremony, after collecting the Runners’ Up thaali, Roger started, “Hi guys!! I…..God….it’s just killing me…”, and started sobbing uncontrollably! The Emcee then said that they’d hear from the new champ, Rafa and called him up to the mike. Poor Rafa for a moment didn’t know what to do! He accepted the trophy, lifted it and then…went back and put an arm around Federer, prodding him back towards the mike! That was when Federer somewhat collected himself, “I think I will try again. There’s no way I could have the last word here. This guy deserves it.” He moved away and resumed crying. Then Nadal, who seemed genuinely sorry to have shattered Federer, was effusive in his praise for the Swiss great: “I'm sorry for today, Roger. I really know how you feel. But remember – you are one of the best players of the history and you are going to improve the 14 of Sampras. It is always a pleasure to play you and best of luck for the rest of the year.”

Everybody went weak, teary-eyed and appreciative at this great display of comradeship between the two, but it evoked mixed feelings in me… I think Federer, by breaking down like that completely ruined Nadal’s moment of triumph. The poor guy couldn’t celebrate his victory properly... It’s extremely nice of Nadal to have said such soothing words to Federer after that…he might as well have ignored all that and celebrated boisterously instead. Which wouldn’t have been improper at all. He’s such a modest and sensitive chap, Rafa.

Federer, with his experience of having featured in 18 Grand Slam Finals and won 13 of them should have done better. He’s still only 27, has a long way to go and many more finals to play. The demons of winning every match that he unknowingly created over his years as the undisputed World No.1 are finally getting to him, it so seems.

I’ll end with a few lines from another song – Coldplay’s Viva la Vida :

“I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
‘Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!’

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand.”

Of course, things are not this bad for Federer, but it sure looks as if that’s the way he’s thinking!!! C’mon Roger, BE A MAN! Show them next time out! And one more thing : Stop crying.

Destination Exasperation

2008-12-26T20:16:00.002+05:30

OK, thanks to this nifty typing feature on the iPhone, I'm blogging on the move. There's a nice background soundtrack of 'Pyaar Se Pyaar Hum'(playing in my ears). In addition, some laptop-toting Papa is making his jumpy toddler listen to songs from SRK's movies. Which is infinitely better than trying to make the kid shut his mouth.

This one is arguably the boring-est of all the train journeys of my lifetime. It was doomed right from the beginning. One, I could have chosen to leave home a good two-and-a-half days later. God knows which notice from the IIT said we have to show them our ungainly faces on the 28th. I learn that I'm most probably the first non-Chennai-ite to have arrived in the city. Things back home were just beginning to warm-up : my pals had begun to come back from their respective colleges on and after the 19th which was the day their first semester exams ceased to exist. So, all we got was short of a week-which we tried to make the most of. However, as 'Yeh Dil Maange More', I'm still pretty cross.

To make it worse, as I was about to make myself comfortable in my compartment, I tried to size up the other people who were sharing it with me. They were all old farts. I pray for forgiveness, uparwaale, but this is how I felt. Buggers is even more apt. Unfortunately, one of them turned out to be an acquaintance of my father's. Babai was spot-on when he said, "Eibar ei lok ta toke puro chaatbe". He tried to strike up a totally pointless conversation with me. Pointless became annoying when his first question was, "So, you study English and Economics at IIT Madras. Is it better than engineering?" With the best deadpan expression I could manage, I retorted, "It will take me at least four-and-a-half years to answer your question". That made him shut up until bedtime, when he said he wanted the lower berth(MY BERTH) for his wife. You obviously think I readily gave up my berth, being the epitome of decency and politeness.

You are wrong. I was polite in my refusal, because I had stowed away my brand-new fifty grand laptop under that particular seat. But I gave them the middle berth, I did.

Uh...I don't feel like writing any more. This journey is much too painful and arses like these don't deserve any more importance...

My apologies...

An old DVD and a ton of delight!

2008-11-23T20:32:00.002+05:30

It’s an overload, these memories. They just come. They seem to have a mind, a whimsical nature of their own. Having befuddled my mind with the unfathomable sociological theories thus far, I sat down to write some stuff. Stuff, eh? That settles it. I seem to have lost it.

Anyway, we shall continue with our endeavour. There’s no harm in trying.

Was a normal evening, until I brought out my data DVD that I had made back in March. That was when my system was ravaged by ‘New Folder.exe’(that bastardly worm) and all hell had broken loose. The internet connectivity was shot, so were all the system utilities. Couldn’t just say the magic (??!!) words “Format the HDD” before contemplating how much of my valuable data would be lost. So I sat about the task of cramming all the important bits of info to a single 4.7 GB DVD. Wanted to see how adept I was at separating the necessary from the unnecessary, the grain from the chaff.

Turned out it wasn’t such a big deal at all. The music files were not important, as I had most of my music on other media. Just some select songs (worth about a GB) were transferred to the DVD.

EBooks. Oh well…they were even more important. There were around 400 novels in the form of word and pdf files. They went in too.

Then came the images. Most of the images were wallpapers of various automotive works of art. Important. Very important. In they went. I then came to the digicam images. And I had crammed them in, without another thought.

Cut to this particular afternoon, the 22nd of November, 2008. I slotted the DVD into the PC for the music, but ended up spending the better part of the evening trying to relive the golden ’07 days. The cricket match at Cuttack, Holi, the Party in June, then the shots of our last three days at SPS…No, it wasn’t a walk down memory lane…It was a BLAST down the memory freeway!!!

One movie file had me in splits. The usual stars of the show were Niladri, Shubhrapratim, and to a certain extent, Souvik. Some quotes of these iconic characters have been preserved on digital media for posterity:

Mainak: Hey, ami padini!
Niladri (echoing Mainak’s sentiments): Ami shotti padini…ami padle tui ekhane thaktish na!!!

Shubhrapratim: Aajkal Souvik er asholey ‘ling parivartan’ er symptoms dekhachche…
Souvik: Babai ke dekhachchi.
Niladri (jumps like a feral beast on Shubhra): Mujhe cheer, mujhe cheer!!!
Souvik (joins in): Aare Babai…
Niladri: Dara…toke dekhachchi…aaj tor ling change kore toke bari pathabo…
Mainak: Tumi pechhone takate paro…drama korte hobe…
Souvik (interrupts): Please…Let me help.
Mainak: E ki re??!!
Shubhrapratim cries in anguish owing to the torture…and we collectively laugh our heads off.

I ended up laughing loudly in the solitary confines of my room. People outside must have thought I had gone nuts. They weren’t very far off.

After replaying the clip for god-knows-how-many-times, I sat back with my eyes closed. And not much was left, except for the sepulchral hush that descended on my thoughts. If anything, I was happily looking forward to the December of 2008. Not the Chennai shorts-and-t-shirts winter with the warm, even hot sunshine, but a proper quilt-muffler-jacket-mittens-thermocot winter with dense fogs and starry nights.

Bring it on!!!

Life. Will never be the same again.

2008-07-27T18:39:00.007+05:30

It's a cliche, isn't it? 'Life will never be the same again'. How very true. But if you think about it, nothing, ever has remained the same. And a cliche comes to be known as a cliche because it's something that keeps happening, regardless of the day and age!! All that we are surrounded by, all that we are, all that we have been and all that we want to be is never what it was, is, or will eventually be. Even our past looks different from a distance. The thing is, time has a fantastic knack of throwing away all the bad bits, those which we wouldn't like to remember or give much importance either way, and retain all the good things about our life 'back then'. Maybe that's why we tend to view our past a little leniently. More often than not, you'll hear people tell you, "Those were the days!!".

And I am talking about all this because I experienced it recently. I had this urge to (finally) go watch 'Jaane Tu...Ya Jane Na'(a strictly OK-OK movie. That's my review.). And not because I really wanted to, but because it had already been three weeks since the movie released, but I hadn't watched it till then. I was chastising myself, thinking that I was the only sub-20 guy in town who hadn't seen the film, when all my friends were gushing about this 'masterpiece'. And I picked up the phone, and dialled Shubhra's number. 2 rings later, I suddenly recalled something and hung up.

Shubhra's classes had already begun the week before. He was already in college! And I was cooling my heels at home... I would have ended up looking like the greatest idiot alive when I would have asked his folks, 'Is Shubhra home?'

There are a lot of things we take for granted. And that's only natural.

'Koi cheez jab khud se chhin jaaye, tabhi uski aehmiyat ka ehsaas hota hai'.

There was a time when we, a bunch of 5-10 St. Patrick's guys, would go for a dinner, a lunch, even a tuition together. It was the 'normal' thing back then. All we had to do is make a few phone calls, and we louts were on our way, accompanied by our horrible sense of humour, our outrageous shouting and our intolerable wisecracks. On any normal day, that was a given. And now, it's hit me like a train. The fact that it's no longer going to be a 'given'. In fact, we'd be extremely fortunate if life has even one small occasion like that in store. The thing is, my definition of 'normal' has to change. Staying here in Chennai has to be normal. Not meeting up with old friends has to be normal. Making new ones has to be normal. Will I succeed?

Yes. Because I must.

Vanakkam Chennai. Chollam, Asansol!! Pore dekha hobe!!

A helmet in time...

2008-07-06T16:47:00.017+05:30

I’ve had many bad days. And this one ranks as one of those. My train to Asansol was cancelled. So this post too is from Bhubaneswar.

You are sniggering at my opening lines. You’re thinking I haven’t got anything to write today, eh? I do. Sort of.

It was the trip to the railway station that brought up the issue. The issue of rider safety on Indian roads. To be more precise, it’s the issue of wearing an adequate cranium-protecting-cum-face-shielding device while riding a motorized two-wheeler. To be even more precise, I’m talking about wearing a helmet while riding a bike.

OK, let’s get this straight. An ISI approved helmet costs some extra bucks when compared to one that has probably been put together by a bunch of 8-year old kids in sub-human conditions. I agree. And you buy those helmets to indirectly give the families of those poor kids a meal to live on for one more day. I agree. You’ve thus done some social service which you can be really proud of. It’s all good up to this point.

You wear that helmet when you ride your bike the next day. I SHALL DESPISE YOU FOR THAT!!! And I shall also take the liberty of calling you a brainless twat who can’t find his own buttocks with his two hands. You, by wearing that helmet and believing that it is going to save your skull and face in the event of a 100 mph crash, will have obtained the exclusive distinction of crossing the Rubicon of lunacy. You would be much better off wearing a Gandhi cap! You should be bright enough to understand that cheap helmets are neither ergonomically designed, nor are they made of materials that are sufficiently rigid to protect the head in case of high-speed crashes. What’s more, they splinter in the event of an impact, and are responsible for more fatalities than the accidents themselves. In short, you deserve to be dead if you put such an abysmal price on your life.

In recent times, the honourable state government in India has made wearing a helmet compulsory while riding a two-wheeler in major cities across the country. And this is what I really detest. This, in my opinion, is unnecessary meddling of the Government in people's affairs. No, I’m not retracting my stand on the issue of wearing helmets. I am only saying that I disapprove of the Government telling its adult citizens what to do and what not to do.

The government should realize that not forcing people to wear helmets can work for the benefit of everyone in the long run. It is understandable that those who dislike wearing helmets have an IQ that hovers around the 20 mark. So they are mostly useless when it comes to being part of a society, having the right to adult franchise, etc. Such people are more useful in death than in life. Why should we bother ensuring the safety of such idiots? So, let them vacate their place on earth for good. Once they kill themselves off, they leave the roads for safer and more sensible riders (you don't have to tell them, force them, or beg them to wear helmets, see?) who know how to enjoy the thrills of motoring without killing themselves or others. To add insult to injury, the families of the deceased shall not be able to recognize their faces! Serves them right! Besides, the traffic situation in the country will also improve tremendously.

It sure looks like a win-win situation to me!!

Religion? Who needs religion?

2008-06-22T10:24:00.010+05:30

I had once said that I'll become a believer if I, you know, get through an exam in which the odds against me seemingly insurmountable.

I have become a believer. But not exactly in what you all call 'God'. Now I have an inscrutable belief in the power of destiny. For me, destiny is the true God.

You are screaming obscenities at me. Already. How do I decry all that billions hold sacred? How dare I go against the sentiments of the world's populace? Please don't do that. Not yet. I am never, for once saying that I don't recognize and respect religions and their deities. I do, actually. Who am I to question the beliefs of millions of humans worldwide? I'm just one of the very few who well and truly believe we have outgrown the concept of an exclusive 'God' in the times we live in.

For most of the 'in' generation these days, God exists. Oh yes he(or she..depending on your outlook) does. He(or she) is invoked when there's an important exam coming up. He(or she) is invoked when you have gone out for a smoke and Mom might get a whiff of tobacco. He(or she) is invoked when you are about to meet your girlfriend's father. Is your God so trivial? Is he(or she) to be troubled with your limitless idiosyncrasies?

Then your god is no God. Mark my word when I use the lower case. He's someone who you believe is at the other end of an emotional hotline which you turn to every time you have a problem of any magnitude.

And religious extremism is the root cause of almost all of the world's evils. Take the Uzi-Toting Extremists who think they are doing Islam a great service. The Palestinian conflicts. The Kashmir issue. What the heck, there are countless regional parties in Asia which propagate violence and discord, all in the name of 'religion'. We all are having to deal with problems like these all the time. In the name of all your Gods at once, I ask you, does Islam teach its followers to commit murder? Is Jesus responsible for crime and all its manifestations? Does Hinduism teach it's followers to loot and plunder those believing in other faiths? The answer is an EMPHATIC no. All these misbehaving organizations shamelessly distort the words of their religious texts. The Koran is cut down to the few passages which advocate the defence of the pride and honour of the community and the right to fight for one's rights. And with some other modifications, these are taught to young and impressionable Muslim boys in madrasas. They are not taught the Koran in its entirety, and they grow up to be blood-thirsty psychopaths who never think twice before killing, firm in their belief that whatever they are doing is, as they say, is 'Allah's will'. That they are the ones who, after their fiery death, are going to spend their afterlife in 'Jannat' or paradise. Someone needs to teach them that Allah will be weeping up there looking at the way his worshippers are being misled. Among these extremist cults, the cult of Wahabism is among the most extreme. Look at the great political party in West India which takes its name from that of the Hindu God of destruction. And destruction is what these lunatics excel at. They spew vitriol at followers of other religions, vandalize property, inflict torment on those from other other communities, jeopardize movie screenings, etc. Do the 100 million billion trillion zillion Hindu deities advocate this kind of behaviour? You know the answer as well as I do.

All of this brings me to the question. Do we need religion which is indirectly responsible for evil? Do we deserve faiths which are distorted at will by crazed activists to commit heinous crimes at will? I'm pretty sure I don't. And I don't think you do, either. We are human beings (in case you have forgotten) and we have something that differentiates us from animals. And that's the grey matter between our ears. That's what makes us civilized. That's what keeps us sane. We, therefore have an ingrained sense of morality, a 'moral compass', if you look at it that way. I genuinely feel that we don't have to visit a Temple every day, a Church every Sunday, or even a Masjid every Friday in order to reset it and remind ourselves of what's right and what's not. We need to develop a sense of humanity, compassion, fellow feeling and above all, righteousness.

The bottomline is, we have to act together if we want to save our planet and its people. No God is going to do that for us. The sooner we get this into our thick heads, the better off will we all be.

The Return of the King

2008-06-14T13:51:00.014+05:30

Sometimes, good is just not good enough.

Awww….you cringe. Now what? Is this post going to be another incessant, boring ramble about my never-ending misfortunes?

Far from it. This is a celebration. Of the successful ‘me’. Finally.

The previous post did give many the impression that the death knell had sounded for me, but I’ve bounced back reincarnated, reinvented and reloaded!

Victory is always sweet. But when it comes after aeons, and comes in this manner, it deserves to be savoured. This is the kind of feeling you get when the sun beams down after a July thundershower, something you want to last for a lifetime. Since that can’t happen, one has to enjoy the moment as long as it endures.

And I will be extremely selfish in saying that this is MY victory, my triumph, my euphoria and my ecstasy(don't think otherwise). And no one else, other than me and my close pals deserve to savour this success. This victory belongs to Raunaq, his friends like Shubhra, Guru, Neelay, Manish, Ronodweep, Nilankur and some more who I’m not mentioning here (I apologize for that). Some cousins of mine make the grade as well. And how can I forget Mrs. Paul ? Her wishes clinched it for me!! The omission here pertains to my parents(Mom, to be specific).

This one was a long time coming. I had never been without success for such a long period as this one: from April 06 to May 08. I’ve had to face too many hard situations, which had all but broken me. I’m no rock-of-Gibraltar that can weather severe storms. No. I’m not that strong. So, I badly needed this shot-in-the-arm to jump-start my stuttering career. And what a jump-start this has been! It seems that greatness is not too far away!

But I can still see how my mother screws up her nose when she tells others that I’m, going to study English and Economics for the next 5 years. It’s almost as if she is ashamed of telling the others…Her ‘raja beta’ should have been an engineer. He’s not at all interested in going for that despite getting a half-decent AIEEE result. I can see that she still wants that to happen. Heck, my school’s Principal was infinitely more happy on hearing the news of my future plans. My mom’s smile seems faked.

But, much as I love her, ‘Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn’.

SHOCKING? Maybe so. I really don’t care. What matters is the fact that I’ve never been happier. Other people and their feelings can go for a toss.

“Kabhi kabhi kuch jeetne ke liye kuch haarna padta hai. Aur haar kar jeetne waalon ko Baazigar kehte hain.”

At the risk of sounding repetitive and unimaginative, I thank whoever-it-is for reaffirming my faith that these cheesy fily lines do hold a lot of water.

Baazigar main Baazigar!! I’ve done it!!